


Professor Loki of Hogwarts

by Scioneeris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Albus is an idiot, Corporal Punishment, F/F, F/M, Good!Loki, Grey fic, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Lady Loki, Loki adopts Harry, Loki goes to Hogwarts, Loki's Kids, Loki's kids in hogwarts, M/M, Mpreg, Mystery, Parent!Loki, deaging, family fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scioneeris/pseuds/Scioneeris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor!Loki. In which Loki is not quite a bad guy, just a mischief-making god and a good parent to his children, Jor, Fen, Hel, Nari and Vali. While deciding he's had enough to being used and manipulated by a higher 'power' Loki decides to take some "time-off" for the sake of his sanity and children. He chooses to hide as a "wizard" in plain sight, by becoming the DADA professor at Hogwarts. Eventually, Loki adopts Harry. Some eventual Dumbledore and S.H.E.I.L.D bashing. Set in first year for Harry and after the Avengers Movie for Loki, so ignore canon dates. This is very AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Making Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Timeframe:  
> AU-time shifting. First Year of Hogwarts for Harry, but after The Avengers with Loki. Canon events are used.
> 
> Pairings:  
> None at present.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> I do not own any Harry Potter anything (That belongs to J.K. Rowling), or Marvel's Avengers. I just like playing with them and Harry in my own little world of storyville. I make no money by writing this fanfiction. All original characters are my own.
> 
> Author's Notes: I love fics where Loki is a good, considerate parent and figuring in all his odd/weird kids, I think, if given the chance, he'd be happy to just play Father to time and indulge in typical mischief-not trying to rule worlds and stuff. This is supposed to be a family-oriented fic for Loki and his kids (with Harry included, eventually) and a touch of mystery, 'cause all stories need conflict. I am thoroughly wrecking Norse Mythology here as well, such as Jor with six eyes and Fenris with twin tails and I'm having fun with it. Don't like it, don't read it and don't complain. :P
> 
> WARNINGS: Mature themes. Grey fic, possibly, will contain dark elements. Will contains mentions of slash(m/m), moments/mentions of femslash(f/f), and Het (m/f), Please remember that LOKI can shapeshift, so also features regular Loki and Lady!Loki. Possible gore/torture in future chapters. Some Angst. Fluff. Perpetual Mystery. Mentions of Abuse. Mpreg(It's Loki, remember?). Alcohol. Corporal Punishment. OC's. OOCness. Very AU. Some Dumbledore bashing, mild Avenger-related bashing, S.H.I.E.L.D bashing. De-aging! Kid!Harry. Crossovers with other Marvel Characters may occur. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.

The punishment had been horrible.

Stitching his mouth shut—again. That wretched venom-drip—again. A daily barrage of beatings, floggings and general abuse—again. The bindings and the mouthpiece from Midgard—again.

Loki, god of lies and mischief, wondered what exactly he'd ever done to them. The biggest mistakes he had ever made were not even for his own sake, but that of his family and that of said family's honor.

The Allfather's honor.

And yet, his sacrifices were for naught, his sufferings for nothing and his torture for pleasure.

It happened at the last minute and the most inopportune time.

When they ordered Thor to retrieve Loki from after Asguard's punishment had been afforded, the quick-minded trickster knew that was the only chance he would ever be afforded.

No one had thought to ask him why he'd done it. What had been wrong. What had prompted him to do such a thing. What could've been worth the risk. They hadn't even asked. He'd weathered their cruelties, because, in his own twisted heart, he could not deny that some penance was required. Mischief and chaos did not necessarily mean death and he had brought about deaths for many mortals without even trying.

But no one had even given him the chance to explain. Hel had. She'd fumed and sputtered and raged him for messing up her neatly ordered lines for the arriving dead, but she had not rejected nor refused him.

Well, she had refused him, actually. The last day of 'torture-Loki' had quite nearly killed him. Hel had stepped in, just for the sake of sending his soul back. She'd kissed his forehead and begged him to promise that he would not play the martyr for things that were out of control.

Had it been anyone else, perhaps he wouldn't have cared nor listened.

Perhaps.

After all, the Midgardian mortals had simply pretended that he really was a monster and by that, it was justification enough.

Loki stifled a shudder.

Oh, how he hated that term. Monster. But then again, it was merely another way for Aseir and those pathetic mortals to distance themselves in a way that made them comfortable.

Well.

He certainly had no intention of allowing them to lock him away in more ways than one or to keep doing as they pleased around him. He'd managed to fool them all quite nicely, thank you very much, and he intended to keep it that way. At the hands of Asguard's best and worst, he'd suffered suitably—though the only memorable point of mention had been Hel's scolding and subsequent assistance—but that was beside the point.

He'd had _enough_.

In the moment where Thor approached for the leading manacle to be transferred to him from Nick Fury, Loki took it.

They'd all thought to stifle his magic, to bind him, to _control_ him. They'd sent him to Asguard in the wretched things and many of the Aseir had rejoiced about it. A trickster with no trickery was naught to be afraid of after all.

But no one had thought to do anything beyond that.

Which was why _this_ worked.

_Hel, my darling daughter..._

He thought fiercely of her and begged with the last tendrils of sanity resting in his soul.

The flash of sulphur and ash swallowed him whole—magical bindings and all.

* * *

Nick Fury stared at the empty space beside him where the trickster god had been all of three seconds ago. He couldn't keep and didn't try to keep the absolute roar from his voice as he sent S.H.I.E.L.D officers running for cover and scrambling to do as he requested.

Thor's sudden, grim expression was marred only by the tightening of his usually clueless features into something rather dark. He had thought there was something off about the battered, lean body. " _Loki_ …"

And that was that.

* * *

When Loki woke beside his daughter, it was with a sense of peace and hopefulness. It almost made him sick to his stomach, but he supposed he could stomach it for a few more minutes as it did serve to put a rather ridiculous smile on his face as he stared up at her worried features. A smile that he knew she couldn't quite see yet, but would read from the light in his eyes.

She was completely skeletal, aged eyes and brittle skin at this point. After all, it afforded a far more imposing figure in Niflheim, than her more pleasing appearance by mortal standards.

"Father." It was said reprovingly as the tall, bony figure straightened with some difficulty, the long, gauzy swathes of material fluttering about her. "What did you think you were doing?" She waved a hand at the contraption on his mouth disintegrated. "No, do not answer that yet. _Think_ of the answer, because I want to know." Tentative fingers danced over the awkward stitches. "How dare they mar your face again…" There was venom in her voice. "I ought to steal their souls in the dead of night!"

"Mmm." Loki protested.

She pinched his cheek for the effort and then whispered a complicated spell to undo the magicked thread.

He was proud of her as they dissolved into nothing and the throbbing in his face eased and faded. Her healing spells had improved drastically. As had her spellwork.

"I wanted to see you." Loki countered, immediately. He smiled at her this time, so she could see it. She returned the expression, mildly. He sat up and glowered at the manacles on his hand.

Hel sighed. She reached out with one barely skinned hand; touching the restraints and watching them shrivel and crumble. "And now you have seen me," she said, darkly. "And I will not ask you again to-"

Loki reached up and pulled her down into a hug.

There was a muffled squeak that came out more of a cough before it settled into a dignified 'hmph'. Hel didn't fight the embrace. She sank into it, a moment later, allowing her father's arms to tighten even more around her fragile body.

"You scared me." She admitted, quietly.

He cradled her head to the crook between his neck and shoulder. "I did not mean to." He kissed her thinning hair.

Skeletal hands fisted in the tattered material of his green overtunic. "Was it worth it?"

"Almost." He admitted. "It is always worth it to see you."

Hel snorted. "Must you always nearly kill yourself to visit?"

"You know I cannot breach Niflheim without Sleipnir." Loki murmured. "At least, not without some preparation beforehand and I did not mean to distress you so."

"I know." The death goddess settled herself comfortably in his lap. "It pains me still, to see your soul approaching, dancing about as it comes before me to be judged." She hitched a breath. "How do you always know?" There was a faint hitch in her voice. She didn't really want to know, didn't really care to know, it just bothered her to realize that every time her mischievous father could die, she'd seen his veiled soul approach and knew to reach across the realms and steal him while he still lived.

"That is my secret." He whispered. "And thank you for guiding me back yet again." He shifted with a mild grimace as his magic caught up to the present realm of death and also attempted to heal what cuts, scrapes and bruises had adorned his captive body.

"What did they do to your face?"

Loki stiffened. He'd wondered if she'd notice what the Midgardian contraption had done. It wouldn't have left any marks if they'd secured it properly.

They hadn't.

It was almost been as trying as the first time they'd stitched his mouth shut.

Wretched fools.

He forced himself not to flinch as Hel's bony fingers skittered lightly around his mouth, fingering the scars and caressing thin lips. She pushed gentle tendrils of dark healing magic into the grooved skin.

"Nothing, my little darkling." He murmured. "Absolutely nothing. How long do we have?"

Hel's sigh was soft, but painful. "Ten, maybe fifteen minutes." She mused. "I shall have one of The Horsemen count." She gave a careless wave of one bony hand. "There." Pointed teeth gnawed on a lower lip. "Where shall I send you this time?"

"To Jörmungandr, I have been unable to visit him for some time."

His daughter nodded automatically. "To the Isle within the triangle?"

"Yes, that is suitable."

"Mm. Fenrir?"

"I shall visit him as soon as I can. Is he well?"

"He always is." Hel pouted. "Better than Sleipnir, anyway. Nari and Vali?"

"They are hiding."

She perked a barely existent eyebrow. "What did they do?"

"Perhaps more what they didn't do?" Loki suggested, delicately. He did not particularly want to speak of his youngest and most troublesome children. At least, not in his present state. They were running about somewhere on Midgard, trying to keep a low profile and not quite succeeding. He was not looking forward to dragging them out from whatever hole they'd dug for themselves. He was looking forward to dragging them out by their ears.

"Will you be hiding again?"

Loki opened his mouth to automatically deny that, when he stopped and checked himself. It made sense to 'hide' as Hel put it, mostly because his 'hiding' wasn't quite the kind of 'hiding' that the mortals and Aseir expected. Perhaps for this cycle of his life he could stand to do something that tugged at his nonexistent heart.

"Father…"

He shushed her with a gentle squeeze, his mind wandering quickly and carefully. He would not live without his magic, he would _not._ It was simply easier and too ingrained for him to ignore, thus, it would require that he took up residence somewhere that magic was not an issue and oh—he almost smiled.

"…Papa!" Hel thumped his chest with both fists. She glowered up at him with dark eyes.

"Yes, impertinent one?" He drawled.

"You're cackling again." She informed him, primly. "What is so nauseatingly wonderful that you have to _laugh_ about it in such a disturbing way?"

"I do not cackle!" Loki retorted, affronted.

" _Father_!"

* * *

"Hogwarts?"

"It is a school for magicked children. Mortal children." Loki amended when Hel frowned at him.

"And you would stay there?"

"It seems a suitable cover and environment."

"And you would allow me to come with you?"

"You are always welcome beside me, Hel."

"But I could come, this time?" There was no mistaking the hopefulness in her voice.

"Yes. But you may also have to hide yourself."

She frowned at that, and then sighed. "I would have to be Hela?"

"Yes."

"…could I wear a mask?"

"A mask?"

"To hide my face." Her features shifted and rearranged themselves, the old, frail body reworking its very chemistry to present the young, tween with soft, supple skin and glowing, lustrous locks of thick, ebony hair. It settled, then immediately split itself halfway down her face as it often did, the youth to the right, death to the left. It was the best she could do without straining her magic. It was tiresome to keep it up, but she had worked at it for quite some time. It wouldn't do ruin whatever cover they could have.

Loki merely smiled. "A very pretty mask." He suggested. "With silver and gold and black?"

Hel beamed. She flung her arms 'round his neck and hugged tight.

Loki pressed a kiss to those lustrous raven-hued locks.

* * *

When Hel 'ported him into the Isle of Triangle, or the Bermuda Triangle as the Midgardians called it, he was greeted with an anguished roar as Jörmungandr broke the rippling surface, all fanged teeth, glowing red eyes and flared hood.

Loki stood calmly upon the sandy beach and folded his arms to wait. He knew that roar a little too well. Sometimes he could swear this particular son was more sea monster than monstrous serpent. It took a few more minutes of thrashing, roaring and general mayhem before the noise died down. Loki pretended not to notice as he brushed invisible specks of nothing from his immaculate and newly repaired clothing, courtesy of Hel.

Jörmungandr finished his temper tantrum with a tidal wave directed to his father.

The trickster merely threw a spark of magic to dry himself after he'd been drenched. He then wrinkled his nose and stared up at the towering serpent. "What is it this time, Jor?" He beckoned to the great, terrible head. "Stomachache? Toothache?" There was a very short list of things that ever set his son in this much of a temper.

Something akin to a hissing whine filled the air as Jörmungandr lowered his head and closed four of his six, glowing red eyes. He settled his head on the sandy shores with a huffing sigh, angled towards his father.

Loki strode closer, reaching out to check his child's health with a ripple of healing magic. He found his serpentine son to be suffering from a headache and an angry gash along the corner of his mouth. He frowned at the wound and began to cast the necessary magic that would heal it.

"Where did you get this?" He demanded.

Jörmungandr snorted.

"Jörmungandr." Loki perked a brow.

The giant serpent squeezed the last two eyes shut.

Loki suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and settled for stroking the nearest patch of blue-green-black scales instead. "You are not in trouble." He soothed.

_Are you sure?_

"No."

There was a moment of long silence.

Loki sighed. He patted the scales a little harder than he'd stroked.

Jörmungandr snuffled, his great forked tongue darting out to test the air and the emotions hidden on it. He relaxed almost at once.

_There was a fight. Somewhere. I don't know where or why. I wasn't even causing trouble!_

Loki nodded to show he was listening. He could see the almost pout visible on said scaled face.

_And then they fell on top of me and I wasn't expecting it._ Jörmungandr hissed. _It hurt! I really wasn't expecting it!_

Loki boosted himself upwards to reach more of the shiny, drying scales and began to apply his hands and magic there. He could feel the happy thrum of feedback from his son, who fairly basked in the meager attention.

"Who hurt you?"

Jörmungandr shifted. _If I say, will you hunt them?_

"Jörmungandr!"

_I don't want you to leave again. It wouldn't be satisfying hunt. You can stay. It is okay. It doesn't hurt too much._

An odd, warm feeling settled over Loki, one that he could recognize as a hint of pride and appreciation that sometimes surfaced in regards to his lovely children. "Has it healed over yet?"

Jörmungandr shuddered. _Not yet._

"But it's healing?" Loki frowned. Usually, his healing spells were quick and powerful. A sudden thought struck him and he grimaced. An injury like that had certainly come from a weapon and if healing time was slow, then the weapon had been of celestial forging. He did not like that. He did not like that at all. He poured a little more heart and soul into the spell. "No eating for at least two hours so the healing is complete." He warned.

_Yes, father. Thank you._

"You are welcome." Loki half-smiled.

* * *

"Jörmungandr?" He tapped the scale closest to him, waiting.

One red eye blinked open, gauging the expression on his father's face, before they all opened. _Yes, father?_

"I am taking a vacation of…sorts." Loki drew in a breath. He slid down from his son's face. "In Scotland, at a place called Hogwarts."

The red eyes blinked, as if willing him to continue on.

"It is a school for mortal children with magical inclinations."

The red eyes opened wide.

"I intend to insinuate myself within their—community—and I will send for you."

_Y-you will? Truly, Father?_

"Have I ever lied to you?"

And here, Jörmungandr gave a decisive shake. _Never, father!_

"I will send for you when I am settled."

_The others?_

"Hel is making arrangements." Loki drew near to stroke the glistening scales once more. Jörmungandr leaned gently into the touch. "I will ask you to see Fenrir soon."

_To break his chains?_

"Yes. Once and for all."

Jörmungandr gave a pleased hiss at that. _And Sleipnir?_

"When Fenrir is freed, I shall call to him. He will not remain a beast of burden to the Allfather."

_Will I be a student? What will I do? Will Hel be one too?_

"You will all be students, to some degree." Loki smiled. "I shall be a professor. I believe that is the best option."

_Magic?_

"Of course." Loki smirked. "I shall give you a form like mine."

Jörmungandr nearly bowled him over in his enthusiastic appreciation.

* * *

Loki visited Fenrir the moment he left Jörmungandr. His serpentine son was quite adept at transportation and location spells, able to keep tabs on all his siblings and his trickster father. It was a very useful and unique talent.

The trickster materialized in the open, shadowed airs of the isle of Lyngvi and listened for the low, labored pants of his wolf-son Fenrisúlfr. The sound pained him, but he cast out the usual spells for privacy, detection and caution, before approaching the clearing where his son was chained.

A faint hitch in the breaths alerted Loki to his son's awareness of his presence. He did not wait beyond that, but instead strode forward with his head high and arms open. Fenrisúlfr greeted him with a quiet, pleased yip. A sound that repeated itself more strongly as Loki began to cast healing spells in rapid succession as he often did when he visited this particular child.

Fenrisúlfr's feet had become bloody and torn where the manacles on the chain seemed to have grown into the furred flesh. He whined and panted as his father worked the healing spells that allowed him the barest measures of relief. His twin tails thumped happily on the ground when the healing was over and Loki took up a position near his neck, to better scratch the large, black ears.

_Father…_ The whine was pleased. _I am so happy to see you, father, so happy-!_

"And I you." Loki murmured. He energetically scratched at the spot that made the twin tails begin to thump in rapid flips. "What would you like to eat?"

The great maw hung open, red tongue lolling out as Fenrisúlfr scrolled through the options in his mind. _Boar._ He thought, decisively. _Haven't had in such a long time, father._

"Boar it is then." Loki muttered. He cast the spell to search and find a suitable specimen for his hungry son.

* * *

When the snack was finished—for it was really more of a snack than a meal—Loki settled down to share his thoughts on his self-imposed 'vacation'.

Fenrisúlfr of course, was quite thrilled. _No more chains?_ The hope in his mindspeak was nearly unbearable to the sensitive trickster who buried his face in the thick, soft fur and nodded once. _I would like that very much, father._ He agreed. _Can I be Fenris?_

Loki nodded again, bone-weary. Fenrisúlfr was always the second child that pained him so deeply to visit. "Jor will come." He explained, in hushed, soft tones into that great ear.

_His venom will melt the chains?_

"If it does not, then his fangs will tear them to shreds." Loki promised. "I will not leave you."

_Stay?_ Fenrisúlfr asked, tentatively.

"Until you fall asleep." Loki returned. "I will visit Sleipnir tonight."

Fenrisúlfr nuzzled the green-clothed figure affectionately, before curling around it as best as he could and settling down for a nap. His father's company was more than welcome, but he knew of his older brother Sleipnir and would never deny him the precious time that Loki allotted to each of them in turn.

* * *

It was with every caution that Loki teleported himself into one of the safepoints he used when visiting his firstborn. Sleipnir shuffled restlessly in his stall and when Loki finally made himself visible, he was greeted with a warm whicker.

Loki threw his arms around the slender neck, happy that he could hold him close. "Sleipnir." He buried his face in the honey-hued mane and breathed in the scent of straw, dust and musk.

Sleipnir whickered again, nosing at the folds of Loki's fruit-scented tunic.

"Ah, you've found the treats I've brought you, yes?" Loki drew out a handful of sugar cubes and a rich, golden apple. "Which would you like first?"

_Oh, both, father, both!_ Sleipnir exclaimed, eagerly. _I have missed you._

Loki suppressed a laugh. "You shall have both." He soothed. "Perhaps the apple first, so the sugar will be sweeter afterward?"

Sleipnir whinnied in agreement. _That sounds wonderful. Apple. Yes. Now._

Loki ran his fingers along the glossy coat. "And I have missed you." He murmured.

* * *

_So Fenris and Jor will come with you?_

"We will all come." Loki said, softly. "And it will be done with the utmost of secrecy and the blessing of death."

Sleipnir hung his head over his father's shoulder, the best kind of hug he could give in his present form. Loki patted the warm neck, threading his long, lean fingers through the golden mane. He smoothed the coarse hair into neatened portions.

_How long will I stay?_

"Forever, perhaps." Loki murmured. "I will not take you only to give you up again."

_Thank you, father._

* * *

When Loki transported himself to the magical community in London, a place titled Diagon Alley. He did not waste any time mucking about. He took quick stock of his surroundings, of the people present and of what he ought to be careful of.

He was quite pleased to note that their magic paled drastically in comparison to his own. In fact, he was a raging fire among meager flames. It was a lovely boost to his ego.

So Loki moved quickly through the streets, searching for someone who would not be missed. A few snippets of conversation floated by his ears and he turned toward it.

"What's next on the list, 'Arry?"

"A wand?" A scruffy little urchin of a mortal squinted towards a scroll of parchment paper. He stood next to a heavily bearded, rotund man with too loud a voice.

"C'mere 'Arry, this is Ollivander's place. It's best to buy a wand; you'll find 'e carries a good one."

Loki followed to see where the giant fellow stepped off and the little waif entered a shabby old shop. The Trickster was silent as he drew a spell of invisibility around himself and ventured forward after the child.

He lingered in the shadowy depths and watched as the old man sorted out a wand for the boy. It was an odd little affair that ended with a cryptic little message of how the boy was lucky to find a wand that matched that of one who had tried to kill him.

Loki scoffed at that. Magic did not need a wand to limit it. But he was able to pull a list from the child's hand—Harry, was it?—and skim the contents. It was nothing of tremendous consequence; he could easily duplicate the necessary items or conjure them if needed.

With that in mind, he turned to go, pausing to allow the visible little Harry to scamper out first. He frowned, noting the overlarge clothes and a few not quite faded bruises. His sharp eye catalogued them and tucked them away as the wiry old voice called out to him.

"And what can I do for you—oh!" The words trailed off in a cry as old man Ollivander came face to face with burning green eyes and a wicked smirk.

"I need nothing." Loki hissed. His eyes flared green and he stole the knowledge secreted within the barely shielded mortal mind. It was something of interest and importance, of rare things and wandlore. Loki tucked it away for later. It would help him ensure that his children were properly outfitted for the whole adventure of Hogwarts.

"Thank you." He murmured a spell to erase the memory of his own visit and vanished with a click of his fingers.

* * *

When Loki rounded up the necessary things and information he required—or more specifically—set in place eyes and ears for him, he rested in a space labeled as the Leaky Cauldron and kept a table cleared solely for him.

He had adopted a slightly sharper look at first to disguise himself, but then it had simply become easier to shift into his alternate gender, the Lady Loki and take up residence instead. While he doubted there were people actively searching for the god of lies and mischief, it did not hurt to be cautious.

Shifting into Lady Loki for the time being, resolved half of his troubles at once, for even Thor had never seen his full female form and thought it a useless thing to have.

Loki had always been careful afterwards to keep it from the Thunder god's eyes. He preferred to keep his secrets many and well-hidden. Lady Loki was a perfect temporary replacement for now. It would be an excellent cover and his children never minded which gender he shifted into. As long as he could be there for them, he fully intended to revel in his capacity as a parent once more.

At the moment, Loki himself did not care either, as long as he could live comfortably, in a new playground without attracting the attention of those wretched avengers or any pathetic villains. He—she—smirked.

Lady Loki's attention was diverted when the loud-mouthed giant and the little Harry-waif came traipsing into the Leaky Cauldron. She listened as the little Harry-waif was introduced into the stuttering excuse of a fool by the name of Professor Quirinus Quirrell. At that, Lady Loki's eyebrows arched upwards into her hairline.

He was quite a stuttering fool.

And Harry wasn't not impressed. He'd actually winced and rubbed at his head.

A headache, perhaps? Lady Loki mused to herself. Nari was prone to headaches when he did not spend enough time out of the light. She frowned, Nari had a valid excuse, Harry did not quite have the same. When the bumbling fool excused himself to go and purchase a book on Vampires, of all creatures, Lady Loki left her table and excused herself after him. She had not missed the meaning of little interaction between him and the Harry-waif that had caught her eye. There was mischief afoot and it was not of the favorable kind.

She thought Harry to be a somewhat likeable child, somewhat reminiscent of Fenrisulfr's messy black mane and with vivid green eyes, a hereditary trait she hadn't managed to ever keep from passing on to her own offspring, not that she minded,of course. But Harry's reaction was only one of the reasons that the Trickster could not help following the stuttering idiot outside.

It was only a matter of minutes before Lady Loki singled him out from the crowd and simply followed along until the first moment presented itself. When it did, she took it. The turbaned professor found himself pinned against the cold stone of a shop wall, with vise-like hands wrested around his neck. "You should be more careful, mortal," Lady Loki murmured. "Because I do intend to enjoy this!" Vivid green eyes burned and there was a faint hiss as Loki caught the scent of burning flesh.

With hardly a flick of her wrist and a flat pulse of magic, the turbaned Professor was roughly pulled into the puppeteer manipulation that Loki had always been rather fond of. She cast the enchantment to the mortal's very bones, displeased when she realized there was more than simply a dimwitted mind present in the physical body. She wouldn't be able to use it after all.

Lady Loki delved carefully into the surface of the man's mind, sifting out all necessary points of information. With a flare of magic, the body was suddenly burnt away to nothing but bones and then those flared into flame, before they turned to ash and then dust that was quickly swept away.

Gracefully, Lady Loki bent and traced a few shapes in the remaining ash, an apology to Hel who would be sure to be the one to greet the troubled professor.

Rising to her feet, she adjusted her silken skirts. Perhaps she wouldn't have to return to the alley after all, she could simply wait until her other things were settled. A settlement that would involve a clone of said deceased professor and carefully planted idea to slip Loki's family into Hogwarts. She could take up the teaching position, now newly vacated. It could be good. It would certainly be fun.

After all, the man was supposed to be teaching a class of Defense Against the Dark Arts. How ironic. Loki smirked.


	2. Taking Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I have changed to present tense for this fic. Trying to write Loki and his kids in past tense was giving me a headache. I will probably write the rest of it in present tense as well. I'll try to fix that in the first chapter when I can spare the time. Apologies.
> 
> PREVIOUSLY: Loki freed himself after the All-Father sent him back to earth for S.H.I.E.L.D's punishment, by calling on his daughter, Hel. He decides he's had enough of everything and everyone, after it wasn't his fault that the Chitauri tried to use him to reach Asguard. He decides to hide on Midguard, in Hogwarts, with his children. On the way of putting together the necessary provisions, Loki spies little Harry Potter getting ready for his first semester and kills DADA Professor Quirrell, by accident.

_Possession_ , Lady Loki mused when the day's actions and her own actions had caught up with everything. In a flicker of emerald fire, he returned to his male form. It had been a long day and he had not known what to do and where to begin, but yet, in the course of a day, he'd managed to change everything around.

There was no doubt that the idiot Avengers and their pathetic little Nick Fury would be screaming their heads off and causing havoc as they searched everywhere for him. She stifled a snort at that. _And they have the nerve to say that_ I _am destructive._ Lady Loki settled herself into the comfortable niche along the rooftop and waited for the moon to fall and there was nothing else to bother her as she waited for the Moonlight to come.

It was strange to realize that the turbaned professor had been a man possessed. Of what, Lady Loki was not quite sure, but he was glad that it did afford him the ability to drop his look as the Lady Loki; it was sometimes difficult to remember that there were certain things he could and could not do, without having to cause too much trouble.

It had been an ugly, dark and evil entity that had resided within the man and something about it had set Loki on edge enough for him to interfere, he'd felt that it was well within his realms and rights to step in. Yes, more than well within it.

So he'd killed it.

Well, correction, he'd killed the vessel and hopefully banished the wretched spirit within it as well.

Loki sighed. He then straightened up and took himself off to the corner to practice what he would say to bring about the necessary comforts he wished to have ready for his children. This professor was currently single and stupid, but Loki would surely find a way around that. It was his area of expertise, after all.

Perhaps a clone or two, he mused. It would allow him to introduce himself as a friend and then make excuses for his children. Ah, yes, that would be best, at least, for the moment. And with that thought, Loki hummed happily to himself and began to settle in for a night of scheming.

* * *

"What do you mean, Loki escaped?" Tony Stark glowered at the image of Fury flickering and steadying on the large video screen in the Avengers tower. "I thought he was sent back to that Asguard place and whatever it was, thingy." He waved a hand toward Thor, who sat brooding and sulky in a corner.

The Thunderer could bring down the mood without saying a word when he put himself in such a temper. At the moment, storm clouds roiled overhead, but thankfully, no brash displays of lightening or watery torrents came raining down upon them.

Natasha was somewhat grateful for that. It meant using less hairspray. "How did he escape?" This, she had to know. The wretched excuse of a god was nothing more than a—and here, she quickly sliced off that train of thought. It would not do to become distracted during such a time. She frowned when Fury only heaved a sigh at question and waved a hand to have the video footage of the Trickster escaped played for all.

She squinted at the video, taking in every detail that her mind would allow. It was virtually flawless in its execution and she pressed her lips together, realizing that he had to have known.

"That's it?" Clint exclaimed. He stared as the video looped and replayed. "How are we supposed to get anything on-"

"Thank you JARVS," Tony snapped, "You can stop playing it now." He didn't like it any more than the others, but there was nothing to be gained from watching it over and over and over again.

The man was simply there one moment and gone the next. It was almost as if he planned it.

Tony frowned, no wait, he was there one moment and gone the next and—freeze—Tony stared at the frame he'd had JARVIS lock onto. He stared at the lean, tall and rather pale figure and felt the first stirrings of discomfort breed inside his stomach.

He swore softly to himself. What his mind was screaming at him did not sit well with the rest of him. He wondered, briefly, if anyone else had noticed, when he felt the Widow's piercing gaze razoring through him.

The billionaire gulped. Okay. Natasha knew. She always knew.

This could not go over well.

Thankfully, his fellow science-brain finally voiced an opinion.

"He can't get far without his magic, right?" Bruce interjected. He looked to the Captain who was frowning at the video footage as well. "They worked, didn't they? The cuffs? Until the other end was disturbed?"

"It should have worked regardless of what disturbance." Tony glowered. It was rubbing salt in a wound to say that one of his most prized inventions had failed in the moment where it had been absolutely put to the test. "And he shouldn't have—couldn't have been able to cast a spell with that on him. Impossible" He rubbed at his goatee a little too firmly and then scowled, darkly.

If he were to be honest with himself—something that was never to happen under sober circumstances—then given the current evidence, it might Loki could've been kidnapped.

Kidnapped, was certainly unusual but no less confusing as he found himself staring and wish and waiting and wanting nothing that would come.

Tony looked to Steve who frowned as if he'd come to the same conclusion on his own and didn't really like the answer that had come up. He sighed. This was going to be a really, really long afternoon.

* * *

His nighttime scheming had paid off beautifully.

So Lady Loki found herself standing patiently and calmly in the jumbled, cluttered office of one Albus Dumbledore, while his cloned version of the stuttering Professor Quirrel made the necessary introductions.

Lady Loki only listened with half an ear, not really caring to see how the other half of her wit would wrangle about the necessary end that she desired. Instead, she busied herself with bright green eyes that roved over every single item in the magicked office.

She stared back, guilelessly at the moving portraits, some that eyed her suspiciously, some that glowered in disapproval and some that stared back in happy curiosity. She favored those last ones with the most charming smile she could spare and the turned her attention to the rest of the office.

It was quite a lovely office.

Secluded, helpfully cluttered and with plenty of magical artifacts stashed about in every corner, albeit somewhat haphazardly. Lady Loki tucked that away for later thought as she counted up the items in the room, noting that some were light, some were dark and some were in between.

How very, very curious.

Her last snippet of attention arrested itself when her questing gaze finally turned back to the cluttered desk where her clone and Dumbledore continued to converse in angry whispers. It was the shifting, ashy mound beneath the hideous golden pet perch, that drew her gaze.

The clump of smoky dust puffed and moved away to show a very naked, very pale and very tiny little bird.

Lady Loki stared in a mixture of interest and somewhat horrified fascination. Her mind sifted through the centuries of knowledge, searching for what the creature ought to be. She glided forward, dropping to a crouch, eyes level with the little, naked thing, when dark, black eyes winked open.

Green met black.

Lady Loki felt herself smile before she could check the emotion.

The fledgling surveyed her, the black eyes growing mildly wider with interest.

A tiny cheep interrupted the heated, whispered argument and Dumbledore turned about, fiercely. He softened, almost at once, catching sight of the newly molted avian. "Ah, Fawkes." He said, tenderly. "I had forgotten it was your burning day."

"Fawkes?" Lady Loki inquired, rising to her full height and towering easily over the seated wizard and the golden perch.

"My familiar." The wizened old wizard looked her up and down with a decided frown on his face.

"Ah. Of course. What is it, may I ask?" Lady Loki inquired, politely.

"My Phoenix, Fawkes." Dumbledore said, stiffly.

Lady Loki allowed another smile—making a mental note of it—and tipped her head. "Thank you." She murmured, but the smile was more for the little thing than for the white-haired Dumbledore.

The whispered argument seemed about to restart itself when Lady Loki whirled on them both. "Quirrell, that is enough. I shall handle your class and any other necessary duties until your return. Take as long as you like and answer my messages promptly when I send them." Green eyes narrowed, meaningfully. "As such, in a gesture of goodwill, I shall have my children transfer here. As long as they are provided for and content within the walls of this academy, then I shall remain. The moment I wish to leave and you have not returned-" Here, the emerald eyes darkened considerably. The clone Professor Quirrell gave a rather undignified squeak. "I shall simply _leave_ and it will be upon your head." Lady Loki turned sharply to Dumbledore. "And yours, sir." She snapped. "I assure you, I am well acquainted with the necessary tools and skills for teaching young-" and here, Lady Loki bit back the term 'mortals' and substituted "children. I have my own, after all, and I think you will find my presence to be—invaluable."

Helplessly, cloned Professor Quirrell threw up his hands.

The disgruntled Dumbledore gave a grudging nod.

"Thank you." Lady Loki said, regally. "I will have some requests that I demand be fulfilled."

"Demand?" Dumbledore said, tightly. "I am afraid that demands are not something that-"

"Family quarters, for myself and my children." Lady Loki continued, smoothly, as if she hadn't heard a thing. "We are all very close and it would be in your best interest, as my children require a firm hand and my immediate presence. Rest assured that they shall be well-behaved and on their best behavior, but private quarters remain a concession that will provide a substantial reward in the long run."

Here, Dumbledore bristled, quite visibly, but before he could argue on those points, the door to the office swung open and a stern-faced witch strode in, clad elegantly in well-made robes of dark, forest green.

"Albus." She said, stiffly. Her own green eyes glittered meaningfully as they swept over her fellow colleague and his guest. "I wasn't aware you were occupied." She folded her arms into the voluminous sleeves of her robes. "Quirrell." She gave a curt nod to the stammering fellow who practically cringed away from her.

"Lori Aldricson." Lady Loki gave a faint nod. "I was merely attempting to impress upon your headmaster the importance of family quarters for myself and my children."

"Family quarters…?" Her voice trailed off.

"Now, Minerva, there is nothing-"

"Nothing, Albus?" The fierce witch glowered at him. "I believe we are long overdue for a very short conversation." She smiled thinly. "Your business is now concluded-" she pointed to the door and Quirrell scuttled forward. "You may wait outside. I will settle it for you."

Lady Loki—Lori—opened her mouth, then shut it. "Thank you, Madam." She murmured and trotted down the stairs behind her clone.

* * *

It was several minutes before Minerve came down the curved stairway, smoothing back invisible strands of silver hair into her bun as she readjusted her pointed hat. "Ah, Lady Aldricson."

"Lori, please." Lady Loki murmured. "Madam…?"

"Then it would be, Minerva." The elderly witch allowed. "Lori, then. How many children do you have?"

"With me, at the moment?" Lady Loki hummed thoughtfully. "Four. Three sons, one daughter."

"Quite wonderful." Minerva gave a dismissive wave. "I'm afraid they shall have to be sorted into the appropriate houses and to live in the dorms. They are welcome to visit you in your quarters on the weekends or after dinner hours."

Lady Loki blinked. "Pardon?"

"Children need to learn and grow during these formative years. I do not doubt that you have raised them well, but family quarters are simply out of the question right now and-"

"I…see." Lady Loki frowned, deeply. "This is troubling."

"A mother always worries." Minerva huffed. "Fear not. If any are sorted into my house, they shall be well looked after."

* * *

There was a snort of disbelief.

Minerva turned, feeling a sudden prickle of unease in the way that hairs at the back of her neck began to stand on end. There was an eerie glow to Lori's vivid green eyes as she seemed to have frozen on the spot, a few feet away.

"It was not the children I worried for." Lori's words are weighted and measured. "It was for your own sakes." With that cryptic phrase, the pale face lifts upward and the mysterious witch glided forward with a distinct chill in her wake.

* * *

His plans are simple and wrought with the kind of care he has come to phase together as necessity. Loki prowls his makeshift lair—a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron—and decides on what to do next. He knows time is limited and the best course of action is simply to retrieve his children and vanish.

He knows that Hogwarts will shield them. She is a charming castle that sympathizes with his need to live peaceably and protect his children. She will agree—she already has. Until he is settled, Loki knows that he will not search out the avengers nor that wretched S.H.E.I.L.D agency.

If they grow close to him, he knows Thor's thunder will warn him. They may have argued and practically killed each other every other century or so, but Loki knows that Thor is his brother—no matter how much he wishes to deny it—and Thor has never deliberately hurt him.

The skies are clear, so Loki knows that it is safe for now.

That is good.

 _Hel, my darling daughter…_ he calls out to her.

She answers in a heartbeat as his neck gives a sickening twist and snap. The physical body lingers on the floor for a few seconds longer and then vanishes altogether.

* * *

Loki woke in her arms—again—this time to her bony fingers feathering around his aching neck. There is a glower to rival all other glowers on her face and her thin, dry lips have pursed into a pout.

"You did not have to snap your neck to see me." She informed him, darkly. Her hands give a vicious twist and Loki winces as his head—and consequently his neck—shift back into their usual places.

"Sleipnir." Loki reminds her, but he allows her fussing for another moment, before he sits up.

"Did you have to send that poor man?" Hel waits until he stands over her and then accepts his hand to rise. She brushes off wisps of darkness from the shrouded cloak that is her velvet mantle. "He was possessed you know."

"I know." Loki leans sideways enough to brush their shoulders together.

Hel smiles. "A strange sort." She allows. "Only a portion of his soul." Her brow furrows together. "That is _cheating_." And her hackles are up again.

Loki frowns. "Cheating?" god of mischief is one thing, but he does appreciate honesty in the proper moments and places.

"A mortal by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle." Hel's pert nose half-wrinkles in disgust. "His soul is split into seven pieces."

Something explodes and bursts into vivid, dark flame, several feet away. Hel's guardians shift restlessly around the edges of her crumbling palace of ruin. She pays no mind to them. Her temper is riled and will not be soothed any time soon.

" _seven_ pieces, Father!" She scowls. "I ought to wrench his wretched-!"

And here, Loki quickly covers her mouth, before he can hear the rest of her colorful vocabulary. He loves his darling daughter with all of his heart. But he also does not have that same heart to tell her that she can outswear a sailor and beyond.

She glowers at him for good measure and then straightens her shroud, primly. "I am not sure I can leave just yet."

Loki frowns. He does not want to leave her behind. Odin will certainly come to check for her once his other children begin to vanish. He has methods for leaving dopplegangers in place, but it is a risk and one cannot know if Hiemdall will know the difference or not.

"Can you not send a reaper?" Loki suggests. He is not entirely sure what to do, as all matters of death and darkness are often reinvented in the face of Hel's ire.

"Perhaps." She allows. "I suppose that is an option if not—oh." She stops in her tracks, green eyes growing wide. "Hogwarts. That is the school where you wish to stay, yes?"

"Mmm." Loki nods.

"He was once a student there." Hel hums to herself. "There. I shall come after all, but" and her head rolls to the side with a very loud, audible crack. "I shall hunt during the nights." There is a sinister smirk on her face. "I shall extract every sliver of his soul in the most painful of ways imaginable and then, only then, will I grant him an audience."

"An audience?"

"Then I will deny him." Hel's eyes gleam wickedly. "It shall be marvelous." The darkly glittering gaze fixes itself on her father. "You will not interfere, Papa." The endearment is used to ensure her father's cooperation.

"I would never tell you do otherwise." Loki says, smoothly. "Shall we?"

Hel's nearly nonexistent eyebrows arch upwards. "You are wonderful." She informs him. Though it is no surprise that he would have already seen to the necessary preparations. Her father is brilliant and powerful.

And she cannot wait to dig her fingers into the mortal world.

* * *

Her spells are known for illusion and stealth. It is why Loki has come to her first. He lends her his own magic to mix with her inherent talents and a marvelous mask is crafted in a stuttering heartbeat.

It is pitch black, against her creamy complexion and there are scrolls of silver and gold and bronze adoring it. She cuts out a chunk of the upper left side, to show a quarter of her face. The rest is molded exactly to her features and she allows her father's nimble fingers to fasten it over her.

He presses a kiss to the masked portion of her cheek and then to the exposed left eye. She winks and giggles. He returns the wink. He watches with a careful eye as she transforms her clothes into suitable Hogwarts attire.

Her suit is decidedly different from the standard schoolwear as everything of her choice is the darkest black and richest material she can conjure.

"Beautiful." Her father approves. Then bristles. "If any should dare to-"

"I am not interested in boys, Father." Hel gives a dismissive wave of her hand. Not at the moment, anyway. They require too much effort to maintain. "Do not kill any for simply looking. I haven't the patience for more paperwork."

He glowers at her.

She gives him The Look.

He relents with a sigh that only an aggrieved father can produce. "Shall we?" He says, mournfully, arms open.

"To Jörmungandr?" Hel steps close. She can never step out of Nifelheim. Not the way that she has always dreamed of. But her father has always promised her that a day will come when she can roam freely outside, in her physical body instead of her astral form.

Today seems like that day.

Fear and excitement war within her for equal measure.

She wants this.

Wants it so very badly.

"Are we going now?" Her voice sounds small to her own ears and not at all like the way the Queen of the dead should sound.

But Loki doesn't seem to notice. He still holds his arms out, waiting. What is unsaid between them is already known. "Immediately." He answers.

That is all she needs to know.

So Hel throws her arms around her father and nestles her masked face in his stomach. There is the familiar yank and pull, before they both disappear and then the shadowed, decayed depths are silent again.

* * *

Loki's transportation spells are wonderful, but not as good as Jörmungandr's who seems to have a particular knack for them.

Hel is glad she kept her arms around her father's thin figure, for it helped with the slightly rough landing when the portal spat them out. She holds on for a moment longer than necessary before she releases him.

If Loki notices, he pretends that he doesn't.

Hel will not call him on it.

"Jörmungandr!" Loki's voice rings out with authority and pride.

It is scant seconds before the scaly head of Hel's brother, breaks through the watery depths. He surfaces with a loud, pleased roar and all of his eyes flutter in contentment as he rinses the venom from his mouth and heaves his dripping form halfway over the island.

"Jor!" Hel praises as she runs to meet him, careful with her steps in the sand.

He snorts happily, spraying her with a fine mist as she approaches to hug his face.

 _Jörmungandr_. Loki greets silently. _We are ready. Is there anything you have left undone?_

The great scaled head gives the faintest of shakes, careful not to dislodge his sister from her position where she attempts to hug the end of his snout.

"This may hurt." Loki warns. It has been years since he has tried to call forth his son's alternate form. "Hel, stand back please. Maintain my wards."

And Hel does. She is an expert at that and the magic flows freely from her velvet gloved fingertips.

Loki calls on the old, ancient magic he hasn't touched in eons. This is the magic than he can use that will never be traced back to him. It is one of his few, dark, secrets. It is special and because it is special, he claims it is dark. For it is something to be loved and admired in secret.

It is something he will never tell anyone.

Even Thor.

Or Frigga.

The ancient magic spills through him and into Jörmungandr's serpentine form. It draws a screech of agony from his third son, but Loki presses harder, urging and forcing the energy to do as he bids.

With much movement, magic and sheer will, Jörmungandr's great form begins to shrink and twist. It is several long minutes before he stands in wonderment before his father and sister, staring at pale, white fingers and his lightly scaled skin. There are three eyes, one in the center of his forehead and two where there ought to be two. There are double pupils in each eye. All three are alarmingly red.

"Hel?" Loki turns to his daughter.

She is studying Jörmungandr as if he is a soul about to be devoured. But her brother is too amazed with his new form to take notice of it. She will think of a way to conceal his serpentine traits and third eye.

He takes experimental steps in the sand and throws himself into his father's arms as soon as he is close enough. He shivers when they come into contact and Loki worries, briefly, if it is his Jotun nature.

"Missed you." Jörmungandr mumbles. His voice is rusty from lack of use and Loki realizes that his son is crying. The shaking is not shivering, but rather, trembling.

The god of mischief drops to his knees in the sand and clutches his precious child to his chest, burying his face in the blue-almost-black strands of hair and breathing in the scent of salt and sea. The tears Jörmungandr cries are hot and wet. Loki's are cold as ice. He squeezes that frail form as tightly as he dares and murmurs promises in languages he has almost forgotten how to speak.

Jörmungandr clings to him in silence broken only by his sniffles of agreement to each verbalized oath. He does not want to move—ever. It is lonely, so very lonely to be the Midgard serpent.

Hel pretends not to notice. But she continues to maintain the wards. She has had her turn and so she will let Jörmungandr have his moment.

And then she will smother him in a hug herself.

* * *

Jörmungandr is sensitive to the cold, but Hel is able to conjure warmer clothing for him. Loki works to affix spells for warmth and fluidity for his third son, so that the garments are somewhat more comfortable.

There are gills in the sides of his neck. They close as he stands on land and flare open to life when he ducks his head under water. He admits that he will miss the water.

Loki tells him there is water all around the school.

Hel turns his shirt into a turtleneck top.

It is a gesture that almost makes the serpent-boy cry again.

Hel scolds him for a lack of manly tears, but her voice is barely more than a whisper when she does. The siblings cling to each other as Loki casts the enchantment to make it appear as if Jörmungandr has never transformed and left.

It is a very convincing doppleganger.

Hel and Jörmungandr crowd around their father as Loki ties off the spells and buries them into the very heart of the island. He will use the earth's natural magic to anchor and feed this spell. It will never break, lest he wishes it to.

When they prepare to leave, Jörmungandr casts the threads that transport them to Fenrisúlfr's haunt.

By the time they arrive—for Jörmungandr has taken the scenic route with his transportation spell—he can walk and talk properly. He is a quick study, picking up mannerisms from his father and language from his sister.

Colorful language from his sister.

Loki scolds them both for it.

Jörmungandr blushes.

Hel pouts.

Loki sends a prayer to the skies for the sake of his sanity.

* * *

Fenrisúlfr is waiting for them when they arrive.

Someone has been to check up on him.

Loki can tell, as the giant sword that had once pierced his son's mouth and jaw, resulting in the streams of saliva that turned to rivers, is back again. It angers him.

But Hel holds him back.

Jörmungandr's eyes bleed back to red, from their former hue of pale blue to almost white. He is angrier than his father and no one is holding him back. He alters his transformation with a burst of unnatural power and grows in size to tower over his older brother.

With a wordless snarl, he snatches up a stone from the ground and grinds it to dust in his mouth. His powerful jaws work, crushing and crunching until he opens his mouth and stands over the wretched chains.

Venom pours out in a vicious, hissing stream. It is filled with the hate and injustice that Jörmungandr feels. It is made from the love in his heart to see his sibling freed.

It melts the chains.

It is like acid, eating away at the links and dissolving all it comes into contact with.

The moment Fenrisúlfr is free, the weapon in his mouth turns to ash. The angry red wounds on his furred body heal as the minutes tick by and his magic returns to him. He greets them all with happy yips and howls.

Loki is released from Hel's grip and he hurls himself at the great wolf.

Jörmungandr and Hel gather around to hug all that they can of the thick black fur and panting beast.

Fenrisúlfr's tongue lolls happily above them.

It takes little effort for Loki to cast the spell to bring his second son into an acceptable, two-legged form. He is immediately tackled to the ground afterward and grunts as Jörmungandr and Hel join in the dogpile.

Loki cannot keep the tears from spilling over as his children happily clamber over him. Aged by centuries, yet acting still, like the children that they are to him.

Fenrisúlfr snuggles into his father's side, breathing hard, happy to be able to hold him and touch him. He hides his tears in the hollow of his father's neck.

No one comments.

Hel informs them that they must move quickly. She reminds them there will be time for catching up later. But they can all hear the reluctance in her voice as she admits that she is merely becoming too distracted to hold up the illusion spells.

Loki quickly takes over.

The magic he uses produces such a lifelike reproduction of Fenrisúlfr that he can't believe it. His siblings laugh at him, but he soon joins the laughter as well.

Jörmungandr transports them all to the All-father's stables.

Sleipnir waits.

* * *

Loki's eldest son and first-born child is the least demonstrative of them all, standing patiently and calmly as he is freed.

It is Fenrisúlfr's brute strength that wrenches off that awful enchanted bridle that Odin uses to tame him enough to ride. He then channels his magic to his father so that Loki can complete the necessary doppleganger.

There is a fiery, golden burst of magic that follows immediately afterward and Sleipnir transforms himself.

Loki approves.

Jörmungandr is mildly impressed and somewhat jealous.

Hel whacks them both for no reason at all.

The mismatched family leaves at once.

Asguard remains silent and unknowing of what it has lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full descriptions of the kid's new appearances are in the next chapter.


	3. Sorting It Out, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY: Loki decides to hide on Midguard, in Hogwarts, with his children. On the way of putting together the necessary provisions, Loki spies little Harry Potter getting ready for his first semester and kills DADA Professor Quirrell, by accident. He then takes Quirrell's place under the guise of Lori Aldricson, a female DADA professor.

The night is spent in the single, cramped room that Lady Loki has procured at the Leaky Cauldron. There is one medium-sized bed, but no one is going to use it.

With a twist of the ancient magic that has settled around him, Loki transforms it into a giant, fluffy mass of pillows and blankets. He stands to the side, while his children pounce on their self-appointed favorite specimens. The blankets and pillows are all set up before the fire, in a tangled pile.

Fenris is the first one to wriggle into a suitable position, drawing up the ends of the blanket up to his ears, before he settles down.

Joren is next, snuggling into the covers and curling up close enough to share his older brother's warmth.

Hela immediately chooses the area opposite of them. She leaves a space in the middle.

Loki knows what it is for.

Sleipnir—no, Seth now—hugs his mother from behind. Loki hides a smile as he turns to gather his firstborn into his arms. Seth clings to him, all jagged edges and desperation. Loki knows that it will take some time to reconnect. For this was one child that he could not always visit with the same sort of secrecy and stealth he has used for the others. Seth has always been under Odin's watchful eye and bearing the Allfather's weight.

Loki rubs his cool hands up and down the hunched shoulders and broad back. He can feel the muscles bunched beneath the smooth skin. Muscles borne of hard work, trials and experiences. Memories that Loki knows so little of. He presses a kiss to the tawny hair.

Seth's eyes are dry, as if he has no tears left to cry.

Loki feels his eyes ache, as if there is a shortage of tears of his own.

But there is nothing they need to say.

* * *

The others have settled down without any necessary interference, and so when Loki notices Seth's eyelids beginning to droop, he moves them forward to the makeshift puddle of fluff. It seems that his position is in the center, for the moment Loki settles himself, all the children rearrange to snuggle up around him.

Hela claims his stomach as a pillow, Joren slips in behind her, claiming one shoulder, while Fenris takes the other and Seth settles a little lower downward, using one thigh as a pillow.

It warms him in a way that brings reminders of a forgotten title—god of the hearth and fire. Loki smiles and twines his hand through Hela's raven locks and Seth's silken ones, as his long, skinny arms allow.

He has _missed_ them.

The night passes with no interruption and pleasant dreams.

* * *

Loki is woken by Fenris the next morning, a wet, rough tongue, laving at his face. He sits up startled, to find that his children have managed to transform themselves into more appropriately sized creature versions of their familiar forms.

Alternative forms that fit within the cramped confines of their rented room.

Somehow, he cannot be disappointed.

"Morning," he greets them all.

Joren is the first one to return to his human-like guise, his tongue remaining forked, his red eyes agitated. "The shifting is harder." He speaks, whisper-soft. "I think I shall need to practice." And he does and the forked tongue disappeared with a little extra effort.

"You may practice all you like," Loki tells him. "Perhaps I could make some suggestions?"

"Breakfast first!" Fenris interrupts. His stomach rumbles as if in backup.

The others laugh and Loki slips out to order some of the Midgardian magical fare. He knows his children will be curious about it and he wants them to be familiar with the dishes when they arrive at Hogwarts.

This must go smoothly.

It must.

* * *

Breakfast is fun.

So are the magic lessons that follow.

Jor is a quick study.

Seth is a natural peacemaker.

Fenris has a temper as hot as Hela's fires and Hela, well, she is charming as herself. Her perfectly charming and devious self, that is.

Loki finds himself unable to keep from touching them, hugging them and weaving spells of protection and healing on them. None of them protest. They are all eager and hungry for his attention, in their own, odd little ways.

Jor has settled on a form that is shorter and smaller than the one Loki had first gifted him. Hela helps him disguise the third eye with an enchanted headchain. He also seems prone to seeking warmth and darkness in alternate shifts.

Seth remedies this by coming out strands of his golden-sienna hair and asking Loki to weave it into a new traveling cloak. "I am used to the weather," he answers, softly, when Joren stares at him curiously. "You will find that it is warmer than any ordinary cloth and it will hold the enchantments better."

Joren is so happy, he latches onto to Seth for at least two hours afterwards.

Loki doesn't comment on this, because Seth is finally smiling. A small, soft smile that seems just perfect on his eldest son's face.

Fenris's figure is altered as well. It is bigger and huskier than Seth's, with bunching, rippling muscle and hair that is thick and coarse. The hardest part is keeping his fangs from showing through. Joren happily spends another hour, sitting in Fenris' lap, showing his older brother how to weave the most complicated spell for his appearance.

Hela decides to peruse the curriculum and soon, she is deciding which house they all belong to. Loki is pleased. He brushes and braids her hair as she reads out of _Hogwarts, A History_ , so they will all be up to date.

"Do we have to meet them soon, Father?" Hela leans back into the expert fingers that massage her tired, aching head. "And how will you meet them?"

Loki explains his plan and then hesitates at the end.

The hesitation draws the attention of every child.

"Mother?" Seth is the one to speak, by unspoken nomination.

"I cannot go in this form," Loki says, at last. He shifts his appearance to Lady Loki without a single thought.

Neither of his children react.

"And I was told that family quarters are out of the question."

Joren scrambles out of Fenris' lap to throw himself at his father. Hela twists around with an indescribable look on her face and both Seth and Fenris have gone rather still.

Eventually, eyes turn to Seth once more.

Lady Loki watches as her eldest takes a calming breath and then looks away. "I see…are the arrangements, permanent?"

"No."

"Then we shall not worry about it. Isn't that right, Mother?"

And here, Loki makes himself smile.

A familiar little face flickers in front of his mind's eye and he finds himself remembering the little waif from the previous day.

To take his mind off of things. He decides to share the encounter as well.

It pains him to speak so calmly and confidently, as his children subconsciously cluster around him, seeking comfort and reassurance. Loki is suddenly glad that Vali and Nari are elsewhere. He doesn't know if he'd be able to handle them here just yet.

They may be the most troublesome and disobedient of all his children, but he knows that it is merely the chaos in their blood that drives them forward. It allows him to overlook their mischievous escapades and hints to him at when he ought to step in and save them from their own selves.

He cannot help thinking that they might enjoy Hogwarts, but he reminds himself that there will be plenty of time for that later. For now, he will enjoy everything that surrounds him. It is no effort to imprint it in his mind so deeply and thoroughly that he will never forget.

* * *

Lady Loki waits a day before she arrives at Hogwarts, with her odd offspring in tow. There is a silent, repressed fury glittering in her vivid green eyes and somehow, her look of indifference is mirrored on the faces of her children as they walk up to the massive stone castle.

"Ghosts." Hela murmurs, as they approach.

"Ghosts?" Joren inches closer between his sister and his fath—mother. "Friendly kinds?"

"If they are not, then I shall make them so." His sister says, resolutely. "If they so much as look at you without respect, I shall banish them to the shadows."

The finality in her voice makes Fenris smile. He rolls back one massive shoulder and hunches down, just a bit, instinctively. "And if anyone has any issues at all," there is a half-growl in his voice. "Tell me."

"Preferably tell me afterwards." Lady Loki drawls. She knows her children well enough in this respect. They will look out for each other, no matter what. By some strange stroke of fate, she has managed to do something right. They are loyal to each other and to her. So, she will gladly pick up the pieces of whatever destruction they cause, especially if it is done in the name of the ties of family that bind them all together.

Introductions to that troublesome headmaster and deputy headmistress are in order. Some how, Lady Loki wants to laugh quite indecently. It is going to be so much fun.

* * *

"My children, Headmaster and Deputy-ah, sorry, Minerva." Lori said, pleasantly. Her mouth is smiling, but her eyes are cold as ice in their emerald depths as she draws her children forward. The first—the oldest—is a tall, willowy lad of at least fourteen, his limbs are awkward and long, but his hair is soft, tawny color and his eyes are darkly intelligent with their fudge-brown depths, the faintest glimmer of green somewhere inside. There is an aura of sunlight around him and he moves with surprising grace. He is introduced as Seth. He agrees to be tested to see which year he will fit into. His voice is surprisingly crisp.

The next child is another son, all hulking grace and brawn, thrice of Seth's figure in bulk and with very closely cropped haircut that does not hide the spiky tufts in the least. His dark locks match impenetrably dark eyes and his hands somehow give the appearance of paws rather than hands as everything about him screams primal! His name, they are told, is Fenris. And Fenris is infinitely louder and more outspoken than all of the others put together. He complains about having to be tested and warns them that he has little patience. He quiets when his mother places a hand upon one shoulder.

The third son is quite a change from the first two, his eyes are a pale, milky blue almost-white hue and he looks sickly and ill at ease, compared to his siblings. He speaks with a lisp and his skin is so very, very pale, compared to Seth's peach-hued tint and Fenris' tanned complexion. He is also very small and somewhat short. He moves with an odd gait and wears a silken strip of burgundy ribbon 'round his forehead as a headband with complicated golden charm hangs from it, resting in the center of his forehead. His voice is a whispered, hiss, almost, and he flinches away from Dumbledore's too bright and too blue eyes.

To Albus, the charm resembles an eye. To Minerva, no self-respecting boy should be wearing such a thing, least of all on his head.

To Joren, as he has introduced himself, it is gift from his father and he will never take it off—even in death. He shivers, even though the room seems warm and is bundled in warm winter robes, even though it is still warm out. Lori immediately steps closer to him, lifting the folds of her own dress robes and draping it over the skinny shoulders. Joren allows his mother to fuss over him with little protest, if at all.

Lori appears to be quite pleased at his words and she keeps a protective arm around him.

The Headmaster and his Deputy can say nothing to that.

The daughter, the only one, Hela, is introduced last. She wears a decorative mask over her entire face, save for a small quarter, near her left eye, showing creamy skin and eyes as green as her mother. Her hair is black, thick and heavy, falling past her knees, with its gorgeous length. It is perfectly straight and silken as it glistens with every movement. She wears a fine veil of gold over the top, fastened about the crown of her head as if it is a tiara of sorts—a real crown. The strands of gold mingling with the black of her hair seem to disappear.

Something about the way she stands dares them to say otherwise of her adornments, for the deceptively relaxed slant of her shoulders does not match the dark glare of her visible eyes. She is clothed from head to toe in black, turtleneck blouse, velvet gloves and very shiny, tall, black boots. An ankle length skirt is her only nod to femininity and it has a generous slit up to her knees, though her legs are shadowed from view by the generous black and the tall boots. Her earrings are blue dots with jagged, curved white beads falling from them.

She does not introduce herself. Seth does it for her. She merely stares and somehow, it is unnerving and disapproving all at the same time.

The portraits move restlessly when her eyes skitter over them.

Albus cannot help but think her earrings are bones and teeth. Minerva can only think ' _that mask must go_ '.

"May we stay with our Mother until the sorting ceremony?" Seth's voice is smooth and coaxing. "We will be glad to help her with moving in. We will not be in the way of anyone. That is, if the testing will not be long."

Minerva cannot find the words to deny them and Albus is eerily speechless. She waves them away with a slightly trembling flutter of one handkerchief, her eyes sharp and uncertain.

Lori merely smiles. She has nothing to add to that. There is nothing that needs to be added to that. Her children are terrifyingly wonderful and it feels _good._

* * *

The testing doesn't take very long at all.

It is over in a matter of minutes and Lori cannot help but think that her children are truly brilliant. They have not tried to prove themselves, nor were they slack in handling the testing itself.

Something in the way this works out, lets Lori know that her children are looking out for her as much as she is doing for them. They have managed to make it so that they will all be in a different year.

Joren is a first year, Hela is a second year, Fenris is a borderline third year and Seth, is a fourth year.

Lori can practically see the strategy behind it.

Joren, as the Midgard Serpent, does have duties to attend to, as a first year, he will not have to worry too much of his schooling. Hela is still Queen of the Dead, she will split her time between school and Nifleheim. As for Fenris, he likely wants to be ahead of his siblings to know what will come, he has also heard of this game called "Quidditch" and expressed his interest in wanting to play. Seth is Seth and he will stay a half-step ahead of Fenris, doing his duty as an elder brother and satisfying his curious nature as well.

Lori is proud of them.

* * *

The sorting ceremony will be in the evening. Other students and professors are arriving, with their quarters being opened and aired out.

"Who is that man?" Hela murmurs. A blur of black blows past them, continuing on towards the darker hulks of the castle—specifically, the dungeons.

"Hmm?" Lori turns too soon and only catches the tail end of a billowing black robe. "Drama queen?" She suggests, selecting the odd turn of phrase that seems to fit. Midgard has so many little oddities within their language.

Joren snickers, running his hands over the cool stones along the hallway walls. "These walls are old." He breathes, reverently. "They are lovely! Oh do, _feel_ them! It reminds me of the sea bed in…"

"And we're surrounded by a loch." Hela still has her nose in _Hogwarts, A History_. She does not seem inclined to set it down any time soon. Her only moment without it was during the testing of which, Lori was selected to hold the tome and not her eager brothers. She squints sideways at her mother, with that one green eye. "Are we allowed to go swimming?"

Lori swallows hard to keep from choking. She knows better. The innocence in Hela's eyes means mischief of the highest kind. She cannot keep the fatherly-urge from surfacing within her female body. It is an inane impulse to hide away Hela's delightful figure from the lecherous eyes of male students. At that, Lori suddenly realizes that this entire schooling plan, may require more patience than she is willing to grant it.

"Swimming?" Joren perks up. He breaks into a trot to keep stride with his mother, slipping one of his cold, lax hands into hers. His hand is definitely quite small in her own, large, elegantly-fingered one. "That sounds like such fun!"

"There is a giant squid." Hela continues, demurely. Her wicked green eyes slant to the side and her smirk hides beneath her mask as she elbows Joren. "It would make a good familiar."

"If Joren has one, then I want one." Fenris declares. "But nothing as wimpy as a squid!"

"Squids aren't wimpy!" Joren protests. He turns to jab at Fenris, but Seth silently inserts himself between both brothers before the squabble can truly start. A single perked, blond eyebrow, has Joren blushing.

Seth sighs, softly.

Lori catches his eye with a grateful smile. The one offered in return, makes her breath catch in her throat.

* * *

Lori and her children make the acquaintance of house elves. They all unanimously agree that they do not like them. They are allowed to reside in Lori's quarters until the sorting ceremony. They waste no time in casting wards and crafting spells, testing the limits in the magical castle that has become their new home.

The quarters are simple and modest, a small room, a balcony that opens out into the classroom and a small alcove that will serve as an office. The children amuse themselves with the various items in the room, charts, displays, diagrams and projections, while Lori sets about arranging her things with flicks of her fingers.

When a timid house elf begs their presence for the sorting ceremony, Lori forces herself to maintain a somewhat neutral expression and attitude. Her children are scowling more than enough for her.

* * *

They approach the Great Hall, where Lori is immediately accosted by the stern-faced, deputy Headmistress, Minerva.

"Teachers are to be seated along the Head Table, before the children enter." She admonishes, waving her hands at Lori's slightly mussed robe and righting it with flicks of magic. "In the future, do remember this."

"I was merely attempting to-" Lori begins.

Minerva narrows her eyes. "Let's not keep anyone waiting?"

It is phrased like a suggestion, but Lori knows it is an order. She pauses to drop a kiss atop the heads of each of her children in turn. They hold still for her and watch with mournful eyes as she turns towards the indicated pathway.

The eager gaggle of children press around each other and a curious, green-eyed gaze catches Lori's eye. She finds herself staring at the little Harry-waif from the day before. Their eyes meet long enough for the little one to duck his head and look away.

Lori cannot help the faintest of smiles that settle on her face as she makes sure to brush past him as she heads for the narrow pathway. It is a shortcut that that allows late professors to arrive at the Head table instead of traipsing through the long hall.

* * *

Lori nurses a cup of scalding coffee as her children chatter away merrily in her head. She has not the heart to stop them, though she does wish, dearly, to muzzle them. They are excited that the scheme has progressed far enough that this new start at a new life is making them giddy.

Hela has them all caught up in thinking of which house they would like to be in. She has declared a passionate wish to be in Slytherin. Lori cannot help but think that the proud house of Slytherin would crumble, should all of his chaotic offspring end up within their dungeon confines.

It would be best to spread them out, she muses, but does not offer her contributions to their conversations as the snatches float in and out of her mind, punctuated by slightly louder bursts in the mental plane, as excitement gets the better of them.

Her attention is arrested when little Harry is finally called.

Harry Potter, Lori notes. The name seems to hold some significance, but whatever that must be, is lost on Harry, himself, as he climbs onto the stool a little nervously, his small hands twisting in his lap.

Lori watches silently, aware of her fellow professors around her and unable to help the predatory urge welling up inside of her. She wants that child. He is so small, so innocent and so full of potential that it makes her want to smother him.

She can feel the pain and hardship he has suffered through and somehow, it has not tainted him. It makes her want to sink her own darkened hands into his soul and taint him, as all her children are tainted. The soul is not pure, but it is clean and Lori can tell that it is wavering in its feeble existence.

The predatory urge vanishes the moment that Lori understands the underlying feeling emanating from the little wisp of a child. Someone has abused him. They have sullied him with hands unworthy of touching such innocent perfection. They have dared to breathe the same air as such a merciful soul.

Lori feels her blood beginning to boil. She knows it will turn to venom, if she is angry enough and she is almost there. Her children's conversation have dimmed and from the sudden way that Hela has gone quite still, Lori knows that they are watching and seeing all that she has just figured out for herself.

… _father?_ Hela's mental whisper is cold and hard. _This is the child? The one you spoke of?_

 _Yes, Hel. What is wrong?_ Lori answers. She covers her distraction by taking a long swallow of the slightly cooling coffee. She notes that the Headmaster looks incredibly interested at this particular sorting, the man in black—a most disgruntled and disagreeable mortal—seems equally on edge for Harry's sorting, while everyone else appears to have held their breath.

… _these mortals, they always destroy the beautiful things, do they not?_ There is mockery in her tone and Hela's quivering figure is shielded somewhat when Fenris shifts to stand beside her.

 _They know no better._ Lori soothes. But a bitterness lingers in her mouth, even as she attempts to keep the peace. They may not know better, but she cannot help thinking that they _should._

_That ugly man, the one who dared try and cheat—he has left a piece of his soul in this mortal child._

And Lori nearly shatters the thick, ceramic mug in her hand. It takes an act of supreme willpower to remain there. She understands what Hela is saying. There are debts that must be paid when certain rules are broken. But it pains her to think that Harry may be paying for something over which he would have had no control.

 _Relax, Papa._ Hela's voice is light and thoughtful. _I do not think I need to kill him, besides, he is quite cute and I like the way his magic feels. I shall destroy the one who has done this to him. He will beg for mercy for centuries and I will never grant it._

The playful tone makes a thread of dread curl in Lori's stomach. _Hel?_ She prompts, tentatively.

 _I do so like him already._ Hela coos. _Can I have him?_

 _Oi! He's a kid, you can't just—take him!_ Fenris sounds appropriately embarrassed and enraged all at the same time. _Besides, he's just a kid. He has some potential, he might even-_

 _Father, if Hela has a mortal, then I want one too!_ Joren's pout is almost tangible in his mental voice.

 _Too?_ Seth echoes. He sounds like a mixture between horrified and amused. _We are not here to play with mortals, we are here to enjoy our, wait—Mother? What are we here for? Do we need mortals?_

"….Gryffindor!" The battered Sorting Hat calls out.

Little Harry Potter slides off the stool and hurries to a table with several redheads present.

Lori lifts her mug, faintly in cheer, unable to muster up the effort to politely clap. Her mind is happily swirling, but somehow, again, she really wants to laugh. Her children will never cease to amaze her.

* * *

"…and now, by special circumstance. This year's Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Lori Aldricson-"

And here, Lori is urged to her feet by a dark-haired, Professor Vector and encouraged by a smiling, silver-haired Pomona Sprout. The man in black, continues to scowl and glower, alternately. Lori cannot help but feel he is someone she will want to keep her eyes on.

She gives the stiffest of courtesy bows and a grimace that might pass for a smile. It is very hard to keep a straight face with her children's catcalls echoing in her head.

Relief courses through her when Lori can take her seat once more.

Hela is somehow elected to proceed first.

Lori silently resists the urge to ask if Fenris pushed her. Somehow, she already knows the answer to this. From the way the three boys are jostling each other, a few barely visible nudges and jabs, she is glad that at least, Hela's air of mystery will keep all eyes on her.

* * *

"…Hela Aldricson!" Minerva frowns at the name and the masked child.

But Hela moves to sit atop the stool with all the elegance and grace of the royalty that she is. Head held high, indifferent, as the old hat is placed atop her bejeweled head, Hela waits.

 _Ah, now what have we here? A little—ah, oh my! I have never had the pleasure of sorting one of the likes of you!_ The hat hums happily.

 _Do not waste your time._ Hela snaps. _Simply place me in Slytherin and have done with it._

 _Have done with it?_ The hat seems to laugh. _Oh no, my dear. You are far too delicate and lovely for the bloodthirsty lot in Slytherin, they would swallow you whole, godling child that you are or not._

_I am not asking for your opinion!_

_Neither am I asking for yours._ The hat counters. _Slytherin, then? You have no other preferences?_

 _Why would I desire to be anywhere else?_ Hela's patience is wearing thin. She has always despised magical objects and this sorting hat is one of them.

_Indeed. Why would you wish to be anywhere, but where you could safely bloom into a pillar of strength, beauty and wisdom?_

_Your flattery falls on dead ears._ Hela resists the urge to roll her shoulders. She wants to burn this hat. Maybe she will, after the sorting. Its screams will be delightful, echoing in her Hall of the Dead.

 _Ah, but I am no liar._ The hat returns. _Very well then…._ "Ravenclaw!"

_WHAT?_

Hela nearly sets the hat on the fire.

As it is, only her father's brilliant green eyes staring straight into her, from his female form seated at the Head table, is the restraint that allows her to take a slow, careful breath. She draws all the strength that she can from his comforting, piercing glower and is glad for the mask upon her face, for it hides enough that she does not need to pretend much.

With grace and ease born of her and to her, Hela removes the old thing with pinched fingers and deposits it on the stool, before Minerva can pluck it from her head.

But instead of moving to the Ravenclaw table, she stands off to the side with her head still held high. And before Minerva can speak, Hela does. Her voice demands presence and it is given. "I wish to see my brothers sorted before I sit."

Then Lori begins to clap at the Head Table and the Ravenclaw Table quickly follows suit. This is an unconventional thing, but somehow, no one is about to question it.

Fenris, of course, is next.


	4. Sorting It Out, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for warnings and summaries.
> 
> PREVIOUSLY: Loki decides to hide on Midguard, in Hogwarts, with his children. On the way of putting together the necessary provisions, Loki spies little Harry Potter getting ready for his first semester and kills DADA Professor Quirrell, by accident. He then takes Quirrell's place under the guise of Lori Aldricson, a female DADA professor. The children are then sorted at the welcoming feast. Hela argues with the hat to be place in Slytherin, but is sorted into Ravenclaw instead. The other children now await their sorting...

Having seen that nothing unusual has happened to Hela, at least, not by Fenris' standards anyway, he does not mind being next in line. Alphabetically, he should have been first and Hela was teasing him about it.

So, he may have inadvertently urged her to go first.

May have.

Mayhap.

Maybe.

Whatever.

Fenris eyes the small stool with some measure of distrust, but he settles his bulk easily on it, and waits while the old witch plops the hat on his head. He is pleasantly surprised to find that the object is sentient.

It makes him want to bark in laughter. How amusing!

 _Ah, another godling._ The hat muses. _And I suppose you have preferences as well?_ There is something mildly derisive in the hat's tone, but Fenris isn't really listening.

_It speaks. Novel. I wonder if Joren knows…_

The hat snorts. _Well, then, let's see, there's not much to work with, you're all brawns and very little brains and-_

 _I want to play Quidditch!_ Fenris announces, apropos of nothing. He is fairly quivering with excitement now that he has puzzled out what the hat is and that it will help him in achieving his goal.

The hat is momentarily speechless.

 _Hello?_ Fenris' cautious greeting is somewhat hesitant. He doesn't want to break the hat. He just wants to play—and play some more.

 _Quidditch?_ The hat sounds as if it is tasting the word along with Fenris.

 _Yes! It sounds like a most wonderful game and flying seems like such fun. I have never flown before, really. It is fun, isn't it? It looks like it, sometimes. I want to try. I want to try at least once._ Fenris frowns. His magic is bright and happy, but as he was confined to that wretched island for years, there was little, if anything, that he could do with it. Flying had always been something he had dreamed of. And then to hear Hela's tales of a game played in mid-air on flying devices—flying brooms!—well, Fenris could hardly contain himself.

He trembled with pure, unadulterated excitement on the stool, the half-madcap grin on his face, spelling trouble for anyone that actively knew him. He'd found something to pour his ruthless energies into.

He would make a brilliant Quidditch player.

… _hmmm._ The hat hummed, after a long pause. _You are a very different one,_ it said, at last. _And I know just where to put one with your kind of zest and loyalty._ There was something akin to a sigh, as the hat spoke. "…better be, Gryffindor!"

Fenris slid off the stool with a grin, allowing Minerva to take the hat from his head. He started forward, only to catch a hint of the deathly aura radiating from his sister and immediately detoured to her side, knowing that his presence would either calm or irritate her and both were better options than the murderous tendrils of energy invisibly sparking off of her.

She glowers at him as best as she can from her stiff, standing position, but after a moment, inches closer, as if by accident.

He pretends not to notice.

* * *

It is Joren's turn or at least, it should be, but he is tugging on Seth's sleeve and turning pleading milky-white-blue eyes up at his eldest brother. If he speaks, no one can quite hear what he is saying, but after some deliberation—and it is a scant few seconds—Seth is the one to venture forward.

He carries himself with a muted air of authority and perhaps, something akin to royalty. He does not demand nor does he expect, but he has no qualms with carrying himself as his birth of a god has demanded. His long ponytail swishes elegantly behind him, somehow coming off as tasteful personal preference, than a shaggy, unstylish crop.

With a pleasant smile to Minerva, Seth holds his head high as she drops the hat with a little more puzzlement than before. She has given up reading the names as it seems the children have no intentions of being sorted in alphabetical order.

 _Oh good heavens by Merlin's tawdry beard._ The hat grumbled. _There's more of you?_

… _I beg your pardon?_ Seth is polite and unruffled. He shifts, as if examining his clothes for invisible lint, as there is nothing visually wrong with his current appearance. It is oddly disconcerting in a way that absolutely should not be.

 _How lucky. One with manners._ The hat continues on as if nothing has been said. _And where should I put you?_

 _You may put me wherever you feel I am best suited._ Seth's smile remains perfectly and unwavering. _I have no objections whatsoever._

… _None?_

_None._

… _and if I were to put you in…Slytherin?_

 _Then that must be where I belong._ Seth returned, calmly. _Is it?_

… _No._

_Ravenclaw then? I do so like to read as Hela does._

_With your sister? That miserable creature was your sister?_

_That isn't very nice of you. Of course she's my sister and I care for her very much._

… _a bit thick in the head, aren't you?_

 _Gryffindor then? They strike me as being abnormally thick-headed._ The words are said with little to no bite in them.

The hat is not sure what to make of it. _No, one idiot in there is more than enough, you would only cause trouble there._ The hat gives something of a huff. Having ruled out the other options, there is really only one choice left.

 _Ah, so I shall be gifted the leftovers?_ Seth's voice is deceptively light.

The hat suddenly seems to twist in new revelation. There is something lurking beneath the surface of this bright and calm façade. The hat is not sure that it wants to take that facet into account. The last time it did—well, the result was a skewed fellow by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle. It seems like it will be best to simply put this child where the magic and heart yearns to go, regardless of the tension in the room. _Er, no. Of course not. Hufflepuff is a large and well-respected house. You will do it justice._

_Shall I?_

… _indeed you shall. There is loyalty unrivaled within your veins. It is the cornerstone of Hufflepuff._

… _and if I do not wish to be placed in-_

_You will like it there and you will be much appreciated by your fellow housemates._

There was a long pause. Then Seth gave a sigh. _Very well. I shall agree. Hufflepuff it is on the grounds that you do not subject my younger brother to any of your inane babblings._

… _Excuse me?_ The hat retorted, miffed.

_Joren is different—more so than all of us—beware, Sir Hat. It would not be wise to make enemies out of such young, impressionable witches and wizards, yes?_

The hat muttered to itself some more and then barked out "…Hufflepuff!"

And Seth slides of the stool, hands the hat to Minerva and goes to stand beside his siblings. There are whispers, mutterings and a few gasps. He ignores them all. There is no need to dwell on it.

He smiles fondly when Hela reaches for his sleeve and holds it tightly in one hand. Fenris claps him heartily on one shoulder, congratulating him with words that are half out loud and half elsewhere inside of his mind.

* * *

Joren, of course, is last. He approaches the stool in small, shuffling steps. He looks even smaller and tinier, as the robes seem to hang on him. He climbs onto the stool and kneels atop the flat seat, rather than sitting, as the rest of his siblings have done.

The strangely pale-blue eyes sweep out across the Great Hall, taking in everything and seemingly nothing as he turns that unnerving gaze on Minerva herself. The gaze is questioning and pleading almost at once.

It makes the older witch hesitate, before she plops the battered hat on his head, then snatches a hand after it, to hold it lightly and balance it on the small boy.

Joren closes his eyes in answer, seemingly resigned. His hands rest on the tops of his thighs and he waits.

They all wait.

… _and you must be the last one._

No answer.

 _Thank, Merlin. One that isn't a chatterbox._ The hat mused. _Now then,…you really are a quiet one. Any preferences? I've been all but threatened to see to it that your well—are you listening and—that's quite a defense…you needn't use such a…I do not mean you any harm or…now wait a minute-!_

Joren remains motionless, his eyes still closed, his hands perfectly pale on his thighs.

… _I see. So that is the way you intend to play this? Very well then. I wash my fetters of this entire ordeal._ The hat grumps. _You belong in one place alone, if only for the truth that your mind is as impenetrable as the rest of you…no questions or objections?_

Joren doesn't appear to have heard it.

The hat huffs. "…SLYTHERIN!" _…may they eat you alive and may you be happy and healthy there...you are far too pale, child. Do not spend all your time in the dungeons…_

The faintest of smiles flickered over Joren's face and he opened his eyes to see Seth standing before him, handing the hat off to Minerva, while Fenris took hold of his arm and helped him off the stool.

Ah, right. Most humans and mortals did not kneel atop stools. Joren made a mental note to remember that in the future—and promptly, of course forgot it—as Hela offered her arm. He took it, with a grand nod and they glided down from the little stage-like flat and towards their respective tables, beneath the watchful gaze of an emerald-eyed professor, with her wineglass held up in salutation.

* * *

Minerva watches the strange little foursome exit the sorting platform, breaking up to sit at the tables of their respective houses. She will fully admit that she didn't see that one coming, but the annoying little voice in the back of her mind is silenced when the realization settles in.

Fenris will be her problem to deal with, it seems. The elderly witch stifles a sigh as she rolls up the parchment and waves her hand at the stool and hat, to return to the headmaster's office. She does not want to think of this right now.

It will give her a headache.

The permanent kind.

* * *

Pomona Sprout felt her jaw drop in shock and surprise when the elegant young wizard was sorted into her friendly house. She was barely able to recover in time when Professor Sinestra thumped her generously on the shoulder, a glass raised in toast.

"Looks intelligent, that one." The astronomy professor praised. "you're lucky. Might be another Cedric, you know." She nods down to where a cheerful, friendly Hufflepuff is surrounded by his fellow housemates.

Cedric is the first one to start up the cheering and clapping for receiving another into their house. His fellow housemates immediately follow suit and Pomona is unbearably proud of them all for a few minutes, before she belatedly remembers to clap herself.

Seth Aldricson, as the name is known, doesn't immediately report to his table though. Instead, he takes up a position somewhat protective beside his other two siblings while the last one is sorted.

* * *

Filius Flitwick is left feeling rather thoughtful and confused as he stares at his newest house addition awaiting the sorting of her youngest sibling, it seems. The girl's mind may be sharp, if the extra information Albus has given him, says.

Her family may be an issue, as most children enter Hogwarts yearning for some kind of freedom from their parents, their homes and the thought of practicing magic that will aid them for the rest of their lives.

Hela, as her name is called, seems to have neither of this. Rather, she appears to be entirely unhappy with the prospect of joining the esteemed ranks of Ravenclaw, at least, if her refusal to join the house table is any indication.

The short professor is somewhat perturbed to see that he cannot gather a reading from her. Rather, Hela seems more preoccupied with her siblings than her own happenings and she has not once looked back to the Head Table, from the first time, where the profession realized the girl had sought the approval of her mother.

Here, he snuck a glance to the lady Lori, who sat a few chairs over, a glass of wine suspended in one hand, her eyes dark and brooding, her posture impeccable. There is something off there, Filius thinks, but he hasn't the time to ponder it. He'll have to worry of it later.

Much later.

There is a roar of applause and he turns to see that the next Aldricson child has been sorted.

Ha, the brawny, muscly one—to Gryffindor. How droll. Minerva shall have tales to tell. Filius drains his glass and smiles when it refills itself.

Perhaps this time he shall have a few tales of his own to share.

* * *

When the final Aldricson child is sorted, a certain, glowering, dark-haired Potions Master is left sitting is a rather strange sort of stupor.

Well, it isn't that Severus didn't know what to do, but rather, he wasn't sure what he ought to do. His first instinct is towards his precious snakes—of which a certain mystery child has just been added to—the next is that the hat is wrong.

Horribly, terribly, absolutely wrong.

Joren Aldricson is an odd, weird, and too-small specimen of a child.

Severus can already feel the headache coming on. He knows children—enough of them anyway—one does not hold the position of head of house for as long as he has, without learning a few things.

He knows his snakes.

They will swallow this strange little boy alive.

For a moment, he is puzzled as to whether his reaction is over a misfit joining the Slytherin ranks or whether a certain green-eyed Harry Potter hasn't.

This is a thought that Severus immediately dismisses.

With both parents from Gryffindor, he snorts, it is hardly impressive to see where the brat has ended up.

At any rate, he has no time nor thought to spare for Lily's child today. Not when he has a certain Joren Aldricson to tend to. He shall have to speak to his house tonight.

The entire house.

And hopefully, he can convince them not to torment the poor lad—much.

Slytherin has its own ways and Severus is as much of a slave to them as the rest. He heaves a sigh and wishes for something stronger in his dinner goblet. Curse Albus for making him suffer through yet another horrible Welcoming Feast.

* * *

Lori watches impassively as her children are sorted and then gather together, before breaking off to their respective tables. She cannot help but notice that Hela was the only one to seek outright, definite approval for her sorting, while the rest of her children's thoughts are jumbled chaos.

She doesn't worry of it, for she knows enough of them to understand that they all handle things differently. Hela has a little more on her shoulders than the rest, after all, Queen of the Dead is not a title to bear lightly.

 _I hate this already, Father._ Hela continues to rant through their mental connection. _Why couldn't you magic this to be something else?_

 _Enough, Hel._ Lori soothes as much as she can through the parental bond they share. _You would not enjoy it as much if you knew it was not yours by default, would you? Surely if I know my own pride, I know yours._

… _but Father-!_

 _Mother._ Lori corrects, absently. _If you call me Father in public, I shall be forced to think quickly._

There is something that might be a laugh that filters back to Lori and she hides her smile inside her glass, taking another generous sip of wine. It is not the Asguardian mead she prefers, but seldom does she ever indulge in drink, so wine is more than enough for tonight.

 _Is Hufflepuff alright, Mother?_ Seth's interjection to the conversation is polite, reserved and expectant, as usual.

 _Hufflepuff is lovely, child._ Lori pushes a gentle wave of warmth towards her eldest. It does suit him, sort of. His own chaotic roots are well hidden and buried, they will only show when he has need of them and she knows this is the different in years that he holds above his siblings. _Do you like it?_

 _I shall not hate it, if that is what you mean._ Seth's response is bland and boring.

Lori smiles. _You hate it._

… _I will miss you._

 _I will meet you in your dreams._ Lori returns. _Focus now. Joren is almost—_

 _Father, Father! I'm in Slytherin!_ The excitement in Joren's voice is masked by the completely indifferent look on his face and features as he allows his siblings to help him from the stool.

 _So I see, loveling, so I see._ Lori congratulates. _That is very well done._

… _hmph…_ Hela's mental link clicks off.

Lori takes another swallow of the bitter wine. She can see the argument forming, but her children do not need her to play referee all the time. They will handle this in their own ways and without her interference, if she does not offer it.

She raises the glass in a silent, personal toast to them all.

This time, she will not interfere.

It is the fault of the realms themselves if they are not ready for her chaotic offspring.


	5. Table Manners?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Luna is a second-year, for this fic.
> 
> See chapter 1 for warnings and summaries.

_PREVIOUSLY: Loki decides to hide on Midguard, in Hogwarts, with his children. On the way of putting together the necessary provisions, Loki spies little Harry Potter getting ready for his first semester and kills DADA Professor Quirrell, by accident. He then takes Quirrell's place under the guise of Lori Aldricson, a female DADA professor. The children are then sorted at the welcoming feast. Hela argues with the hat to be place in Slytherin, but is sorted into Ravenclaw instead, Seth goes to Hufflepuff, Joren to Slytherin and Fenrir to Gryffindor. The four heads of house muse over what kind of stories they'll have to tell each other before the week is over._

_The for godling children have their first encounter with their fellow students-in close range._

* * *

 

When Hela takes her seat at the Ravenclaw table, the whispers start up and then, a certain, white-haired blonde plopped into the seat beside her. There are a host of rare, mythical creatures floating absently about the young witch's head, more in the spirit world than the real one.

Hela blinked at the mortal female. That was rare. Most mortals did not attract the attention of spirits hovering between realms. She wondered, briefly, if the girl was aware of it. She was also doubly grateful again, for the mask that she wore. It seems that perhaps she was not as prepared for mingling in the mortal world as she had hoped.

Perhaps it will ease with time.

"I'm Luna Lovegood." Luna props up her head on her hands, expressive face staring openly at Hela. The foggy, absent-minded look fades away to something that is vivid and intense within those rich grey eyes. "Let's be friends, shan't we?"

For a moment, Hela, Queen of all that she is, cannot say a word. This is so new and strange, she does not know how to handle it. But she feels a light nudge in the back of her mind and draws strength from the mental touch of her mother.

"Hela." She says softly. "Yes, let's."

Luna beams at her, a pure, white light glowing so bright that Hela has to blink. She realizes that she is the only one to see and notice it, because no one else appears to be affected by the sudden increase in light.

"Maybe you can stay in my room." Luna continues, cheerfully. "I don't snore or anything. It's a very nice room."

There is a snort from somewhere down the table and a tall, willowy Ravenclaw is rolling her eyes at the platinum blonde. "That's because it's probably the only thing you can't do." She eyes Hela with a look of curiousness. "Then again, you two are probably odd enough to work with each other." She sniffs. "As long as I don't have to share."

"Ignore her, please." These words come from a pretty Ravenclaw, a touch older than the rest with a notion of wisdom in her soft eyes. "I'm Penelope Clearwater. You can call me, Penny. We don't argue over rooming arrangements, but if you do want to stay with Luna, I don't think anyone will mind."

"That's because no one can stand be around her longer than-"

"That's enough, Delia." Penny's voice is firm. Ravenclaw works on a special system of inner house authority. She is a third-year student and that is more than enough to give her the authority needed to keep her fellow ravens in line. She is willing to give this new, strange girl the benefit of the doubt, if the hat sorted her to Ravenclaw, then there must be something brilliant inside.

Hela makes herself smile, even though the expression can't be seen from beneath her mask and turns her attention to the food. She will not truly be able to eat anything, but magic is magic and she knows she can pretend well enough.

* * *

Fenrir takes a seat across from little Harry Potter and beside the bushy-haired girl. They are all staring at him with a mixture of surprise and awe.

"You can sit up here with the second-years, Aldricson." A taller redhead, with a prefects badge waves him on. "Firsties, listen up. I am Percy Weasley and I am your-"

"Yeah, yeah, stuff it all, Percival!" Two mischievous redheads hoot and call. "They don't need to know all that you're carrying on about."

"Is it important?" Fenrir is confused. He looks down at bright, emerald eyes and finds himself realizing just why his sister may have taken a liking to the mortal. This little waif by the name of Harry Potter has eyes so green that they remind the wolf of his mother and he wishes now that they had family quarters. He is definitely not looking forward to spending less time with his family, now that they are all within reach. He has missed his father and he has never had the chance to get to know his siblings.

Somehow, this all seems unfair.

"Of course it's important!" The bushy-haired witch informs him, somewhat bossily, her head of curls quivering with the sideways tilt of her head. "Prefects are supposed to help us settle in as students and make sense of all the rules and help us with things like our timetables." She wrinkles her button nose. "You should know that."

"Oh." Fenrir finds himself unable to keep from smiling at her. He knows his smile has too much teeth. Maybe she won't be too scared though, he hopes. "Thank you." It doesn't matter whether he ought to know it and doesn't or shouldn't know it and does. He will sort those kinds of things out later, for now, he thinks, he is hungry.

The girl blinks at him for a moment and then her cheeks turn an alarming shade of red before she looks down at her plate. "You're welcome." She mumbles a few seconds later.

A pretty, dark-haired girl stares at him a beat later, her jaw half-open in something that might be shock. She hastily looks away when he dares to meet her gaze.

Fenrir wonders about it for all of a half-second, before his attention returns to the curly-headed girl. "Fenrir." He offers, after a moment. She looks like she might be helpful, because if there is anything his father has ever taught him, it is the curse and blessing of duplicity.

This girl may look like nothing, but there is more than meets the eye. Perhaps there is even more than that. He knows well enough not to judge. There are many that have died at his hand and his father's magic for assuming otherwise than what was before them.

He now waits—impatiently—for her answer. He does not remember many things and he cannot remember her name. It is a long, confusing one, he thinks. Perhaps he will need to shorten it. He hopes she won't mind. He doesn't know what he will do if she does.

Probably nothing.

"I know." The girl answers, and then she looks at him again, the blush fading. "Hermione Granger. I'm very pleased to meet you." She waits a beat. "And?" She looks expectantly to the two boys and Fenrir's gaze shifts right along with her.

They both stare at the little green-eyed waif and the redhead.

"Ronald Weasley." Hermione says, with something of a sniff. She remembers him, it seems.

"It's jus' Ron." The redhead mumbles, his freckled cheeks turn as red as his hair and he has something of an embarrassed glare fixed on his face.

Fenrir nods, gravely as if this is important information. Maybe it is.

Maybe it isn't.

"Fenrir." He repeats.

"I'm Harry." The green eyes glitter with something buried beneath their depths.

Fenrir knows he is right in assuming that there is more than meets the eye with the mysteries that he sees lurking under the surface. He is suddenly happier that he is the one in this lion-hearted house. Lions. Wolves. It doesn't matter.

He is happy.

There will be interesting things to see and do.

Interesting people to talk to.

And he will get to fly.

Somehow, this seems like the most fun out of everything.

"Harry." Fenrir murmurs to himself, not the least bit worried now that he has a name to put to this innocent little face. Of course, he can tell that there probably is very little that is innocent about this child. He can almost taste the waves of sadness, tentative hope and hurt that wafts off of little Harry.

Something stirs inside of him and he reminded that he is the son of a god.

Yes, indeed he is.

A son of one of the most powerful gods, for sure, because if there is no chaos there cannot be any order and well, if there are no lies, then how could there ever be truth?

For a moment, he is happy and that is all there needs to be.

* * *

When Seth is accepted at the Hufflepuff table, it is to some pomp and circumstance that he is not quite prepared for. The students are all warm, friendly and somewhat huggable. Seth discovers this in the roundabout way that he is somehow smooshed into something that resembles a group hug.

"Oi, oi! That's enough, down you lot!" A warm voice is Seth's saving grace and the gaggle of eager, cheerful children retreat enough for the owner of that welcome voice to swoop in and pull him towards the table. "Cedric." The grey-eyed boy grins widely. "Diggory. Fourth-year, just like you." He gives Seth a friendly slap on the should. "You can room with me and Kevin and Owen. We've always had an extra bed in the dorm."

"Seth," the horse-turned-boy manages to say, softly, quietly and with no small amount of caution. "It is nice to meet you, Cedric." It is hard not to flinch at the hearty slap that reminds him of the allfather's cracking whip.

Of all the memories that he hates—it was every second with a bridle bit between his teeth and reins jerking his head from side to side. The whip was only a crowning displeasure.

Seth mentally steels himself inward and out, knowing that he can do this, he must, but realizes that perhaps, it will take more effort than he is used to giving. He did not think that he would be so skittish after so long. He has lived for some time. He has been through wars and horrors that someone of his age ought not to have witnessed.

Maybe.

But he has been places and back again. A mental image of his mother hovers in his mind, a special bond that only he can share with her and while it is selfish to brag of it, Seth knows that he will never change in that.

If it wasn't for his mother, there are things he might have done before.

Things that might have cost them all.

Things that would certainly hurt.

Seth pays no mind to such thoughts as Cedric guides him to a newly opened slot on the crowded bench and he finds himself seated next to a blond with very pale-white hair and very bright blue eyes.

"hi." The boy speaks, tipping his head in something of a greeting. "I'm Kevin. I see Cedric's appointed himself your shadow already. Welcome to Hufflepuff. We take care of our own, it's good to have you." He reaches out to gift him another pat to the shoulder and the light in those blue eyes dim faintly, before

Seth nods automatically to Kevin. He does know about Hufflepuff but he does know about his own family. The very reason they are all split into four houses is because they are taking care of their own.

His mother.

Their father.

Loki.

They are all trying or they will be, shortly. He must do his best as well.

* * *

Joren does not think that he likes this school thing very much.

At least not yet.

He doesn't know for sure.

There are voices in his head and things that he must be thinking about. He is not yet sure if he likes it yet. Something tells him that this will be complicated. He likes complicated. Sometimes. Complicated means puzzles and puzzles are enjoyable, most of the time. Maybe school will be the same way. Maybe it can be fun.

Maybe it will be fun.

There are eyes on him and Joren does not look up. He can feel them and he knows that if he needs to look, that he can see without seeing. When the stare does not shift, he does. He can feel the glamour that hides his eyes rippling beneath his skin. He can feel every shift of the eyelashes and eyelids as they blink.

There is new meaning to the idea of eyes in the back of one's head. But this is nothing new to Joren. He has been used to this mixed sight for his entire life and it is very easy to reconcile the flickering images in his head, to know how the world revolves, to know where each of his siblings are in turn and to know where his father is.

He can feel her approval radiating down on him from the Head Table. It makes him feel warm inside and that is enough of a reason to be something almost approaching happy. It occurs to him that this will be one of the strangest things he has ever done, but perhaps, he can manage.

Perhaps.

There are faces staring at him and Joren makes no move to sit down. He will not insert himself where he is not wanted, but he will not continue to stand. His feet are hurting already. He does not like this.

He lightly throws his magic over the table, seeking a useful companion. The mixed jumble of emotions and tangled magic comes rushing back to him in full force, almost enough to give him a real headache, but he has been the Midgard serpent for many, many years and he knows how to handle this, so he does.

One little speck stands out from the mishmash of everything and Joren zeroed in on that. He gave the little speck a good strong tug and waited.

A very pale small boy at the end of the table, suddenly sat ramrod straight. For another long minute, he doesn't move, then hesitant brown eyes flicker over to look at Joren. After a moment, he elbows one of the younger students beside him and a space clears.

Joren calmly moves over to claim it. He wrinkles his nose at the Midgardian fare, and tries not to think of how tasty squid is. He does not want to eat the giant squid, he would like to be friends with it first.

Maybe.

He is rather hungry.

Perhaps he can simply…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the long delay, I had this chapter all written, but I hadn't proofed it. Next should be the children meeting their head's of house and Loki's first night without his kids. I think. Don't hold me to that. Welcome to the new readers and lurkers. I appreciate the support for this fic. 
> 
> Those of you following my RL updates know that my Aunty has finally passed away and it has been a stressful week with funeral arrangements, speeches and what not. Thank you for your condolences and kind words and thanks for reading and reviewing.


	6. Nighttime Scrying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for warnings and summaries.
> 
> PREVIOUSLY: Loki decides to hide on Midguard, in Hogwarts, with his children. On the way of putting together the necessary provisions, Loki spies little Harry Potter getting ready for his first semester and kills DADA Professor Quirrell, by accident. He then takes Quirrell's place under the guise of Lori Aldricson, a female DADA professor. The children are then sorted at the welcoming feast. Hela to Ravenclaw, Seth to Hufflepuff, Joren to Slytherin and Fenrir to Gryffindor.
> 
> NOTE: Luna is a second-year, for this fic.

 

Bedtime is curiously troublesome affair.

Lori drags herself to her lonely quarters to sit brooding in a chair by the flickering fireplace. She knows she is brooding and understands that the cause of it is the absence of her children. She is not sure she will like tonight. Not after the closeness she shared with them the night before. It generally does not bother her to be in her female form, but today it seems as if it is making her more sentimental than she has the time for. At present, she dearly wishes to swap genders for the role that she has been more accustomed to during the course of her life up to the present.

It does not change the fact that she is their parent—mother, father—parent.

Pushing away such irritating thoughts, Lori attempts to focus her weary mind on things for the trying day that is sure to be ahead of her. She wishes that there was more she could do, but in the same breath, she does not wish to smother her children. She wishes them to have the freedoms that she never had and she knows that she must learn to give them the space they will need to grow into their own lives.

Space.

The very thought makes her chest ache. Isn't that what Odin and Frigga had done? Given him all the space in the world to grow up? If it hadn't been for Thor's somewhat clingy nature during their younger, formative years, she knows that she surely would have grown up to be quite alone and perhaps less inclined to think so kindly of her own offspring. There are many stories between her and Thor, stories that are happy, sad and twisted, all at the same time. No sibling should ever have to parent another, but Lori knows that she has done this for Thor and he for her, in the absence of their all-knowing parents, who were too busy to spare the time to mind their own children.

It is only because of the few heart-wrenching, stomach-twisting moments of stark injustice in her life that she simply knows. She knew enough to decide that when—not if—she had the chance to bring children into this world, she would do her absolute best to ensure that they never turned out to be such wretched, dark failures like her.

Never ever like her.

But somehow they have—except they have taken what few good traits were her own, multiplying them in such a way that she can only feel overwhelming pride. Somehow, her darkness has not tainted them.

The thoughts grow depressing enough that Lori scowls and forcefully directs herself elsewhere for the second time that night. She needs to pull herself together and by Odin—ha!—she will. Tonight is not a night for brooding.

It will not be a night for brooding. She knows her children have nightmares. Her own night terrors will last her several lifetimes over, but these are her children and she will do all that she can to give them the peace that she cannot claim herself. Last night she was careful to pull such unpleasant dreams into herself to grant them the first peaceful slumber they have had in decades.

The results were tear-worthy in the calm, relaxed manner they all had for that morning. The way they had all talked and laughed with each other, the tentative happiness in the air. All of these are signs of a well-rested night.

Tonight will be difficult in many ways.

It troubles her to the point where she reaches into one of her space-pockets to drag out her scrying bowl. She cannot be with them all tonight, but she is a god. Sleep is not required. She can surely spend a night watching over her children in the only way that she can without physically being there for them.

Hela is first, because Lori knows that she will need to check on her twice, at least. Her daughter is a prickly handful when she is cautious and sometimes it is painfully obvious. Tonight seems like it will be that kind of night.

She is also haunted by the kinds of horrors that Lori herself has no stomach to relieve. Hela is the queen of the underworld, sometimes she must review the cases that approach her. It is a thankless, necessary job and under that oath of responsibility, there are duties she must fulfill. Relieve deaths of children, innocents and poor lost souls that have wandered into her care. Pass judgment on those who need no more sorrows in this final stage of life. Destroy those who have darkened the face of humanity with their wretched existence. Yes. Many things.

Lori knows that only someone with Hela's black and white view of the world could ever review those cases so solemnly and gather them beneath her protection ever so tenderly. For with all that she is and all the horrors that she has seen and will see, Hela is fair.

Lori is proud of her only daughter, even if she knows not yet how to tell her such serious things. It pleases her to see that Hela is alright—mostly.

Watching from her bowl, Lori smiles when she sees the irritated tic at the side of Hela's left temple. That is good, because it means that her darling daughter now knows she is being watched. Of course, Lori knows how to scry without leaving an imprint, but she also knows that her children will appreciate the feeling of closeness that comes with this personal touch.

Even though Hela scowls through her Head of House's welcoming speech and the necessary introduction of their respective prefects, she does turn to a shadowed corner at some point and allows a glimmer of light to show through the single eye that her elaborate mask does not cover.

Lori cherishes that simple gesture as the silent admission it is and leaves her little princess to a semblance of privacy to completely her nightly toilette. Her sons are now objects of interest and Lori settles in to be amused.

She is not the least bit disappointed as she watches Seth be swamped by his new housemates, the girls smiling at him in pure adoration—for his good looks, of course, Lori thinks, smugly. Of course Seth is handsome, she would not have simply let  _any_  Stallion bed her and of course, it isn't as if she is about to tell anyone that the handsome stallion was an equally handsome shapeshifter. They are all welcome to think the worst. Lori's only concern is their brilliant and beautiful child, who has obviously inherited his father's talent for shapeshifting.

Lori hides her smiles as Seth blushes furiously and attempts to answer some of the questions that besiege him. She shares his relief when he is allowed to retire to his room for the night. When he reaches out to her—in mind and magic, she pushes out the softest, gentlest waves of warmth that she can, skimming it over his forehead, tidying up his mind, so he will have pleasant dreams that night.

Perhaps she will visit him in his dreams later.

Perhaps.

She can feel the smile in his magic when he gently acknowledges her presence, then withdraws for his own nightly routine.

Lori understands and so she moves on to Fenrir.

Fenrir seems to have been adopted by three redheads, a bushy-haired witch and that lovely green-eyed waif of a child that has stolen Lori's heart. He is careful with them all as if he is more aware of the wolf inside of him than the wizard-vessel that he is now.

Lori smiles as she realizes this. Fenrir, for all his bulk and brawn, can be a tender, gentle giant. She watches as he is sorted into the appropriate dorm room and waits with him until he settles beneath the covers.

She can feel his restlessness and understands that the dorm is too small, too closed and too confined. She gently nudges him in the direction of the common room. She also tells him the necessary spell that will allow him to sneak out and sleep in front of the fireplace, away from the snores of his fellow roommates and without triggering the prickly temper of his head ofhouse.

Fenrir thanks her with a jumble of happy, bright memories—the only happy memories he has—of when she came to visit him. She pushes her magic as deeply into him as she can, wishing him pleasant dreams and restful sleep.

He rests.

Now it is Joren's turn and Lori hates to admit that she is quite curious as to how this will work out. She knows that the house of the snakes is quite different from that of the lions, the ravens and the badgers. She is very, very curious to see how this will work out.

What she's seen of the dark-haired, sour-faced wizard is bound to be amusing, if not downright entertaining. Lori also wants to know he'll be fair to her Joren. If he isn't, then the piper must be paid.

Her worries are only half-way founded, for the Slytherins have very closed ranks among them and as a first-year, Joren fits right on in with the others. He seems to have found friends or at least, he is with a trio that does not seem inclined to dislike him on principle.

Their names are Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Lori tucks the names away for future reference and watches as Blaise shares pieces of a snitched tart from the dinner table and Theodore makes sure that Joren has a piece.

It is a scene that warms her heart, just barely, and Lori now listens up as the intimidating form of Severus Snape lectures his newest snakes into submission. His voice is soft as velvet and dark as night, his eyes, a piercing black—demand that they listen to what he is saying and bring nothing but praise to the house of Slytherin.

Lori thinks this is quite an advanced speech for supposed eleven-year-olds, but it is not her place to say. She watches instead, as he emphatically reminds them of the importance of house unity and Slytherin loyalty. It reassures her somewhat, because Joren's appearance alone is cause enough for more than mere curiosity.

She reminds herself to keep a closer eye on her serpentine child and mentally sends him a bundle of nighttime wishes. He is happy and cheerful, beneath his stoic mask, glad to know that she has visited him before sleep will come.

Her heart aches to watch him curl into a small corner of his bed, making a nest out of the coverlet and fat pillow. She watches him settle in and casts her own protective magic atop that of the dream-magic for restful sleep. She will not see him disturbed.

By the time Lori circles back to Hela, her darling dark princess is fitfully tossing and turning, her hands tangled in sweaty sheets, her mind halfway borne back to the realm that she must rule. Lori feels the ache a bit sharper now and she steps through the scrying bowl to stand beside her daughter's bed.

She knew this would happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I might switch to shorter chapters so I can have more frequent updates, because my Muse is a bit stretched thin at the moment and I really don't want to wait forever between chapters. LOL. Happy Loki Day! (april fools!) XD I thought a new chapter would be a fitting present. Welcome to the new readers and lurkers. I appreciate the support for this fic. Thanks for reading and reviewing.


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